Follow Your Heart
by Evereven
Summary: The story of Jeren, seven years after A Simple Change of Heart. AU, since this is an OC. Complete
1. The Problem

_Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all its characters, races, and creatures, as well as our beloved Middle Earth, belongs to JRR Tolkien._

The horse and rider stood on a low-slung hill, so still one might think they were carved of stone. Only the sliver of a moon lit the late spring sky. The stars overhead cast glittering pinpricks of light so small that only the vague shadows of rocks and clumps of trees surrounding them could be seen. Nothing moved. The deep quiet belied the turmoil pitching in the stormy sea of the rider's heart.

The young woman turned in the saddle, staring hard back the way she had come. In the distance, tiny lights flickered on the walls surrounding the settlement where the details of her life had so recently been decided—and shattered like glass cast upon rocks.

"Well, there's no help for it, Two my girl," she whispered to her mare. "We might as well find someplace to camp for the night." She turned her horse further into the trees. When the brush grew too thick, she dismounted and tethered her mare, removing the few articles she'd need—her blanket, water skin and long knife. She took her bow from over her shoulder and moved to settle for the night.

She buried herself in the scrub and dense growth nestled among the trees, pulling the blanket around her. She'd already eaten and her evening meal sat like clay in her stomach, cold and hard. She checked her long knife at her waist and burrowed deeper into the blanket, cocooning herself for sleep. But sleep evaded her.

Her father's voice, quiet when he'd spoken, now shouted in her mind, echoing, "Have you taken leave of your senses, daughter?" Jeren shook her head, trying to dislodge the ugly incident from which she'd so recently fled. She swiped at a tear as it rolled down her cheek. Anger at her father threatened to erupt in a scream. She didn't want to remember it now. She wanted—needed—to sleep. And she needed to stay still and quiet, ever mindful of her surroundings and what might creep through the night surrounding her.

Jeren closed her eyes again, and again her mind tortured her, replaying what she wanted to forget—Lord Aragorn, while kind, had denied her request to join the Dúnedain rangers. Adding insult to her pride, Elladan and Elrohir had witnessed her shameful rejection.

Ever since that fateful day in her yard at home—she'd been only sixteen—when she'd been overwhelmed, beaten and defiled by a group of Orcs, dreams of revenge had preoccupied her life. Her sole purpose—her dream—became fighting Orcs, killing as many as she could, as horribly as she could. But that dream lay slain tonight. Her heart was raw.

Jeren's father Anardil had been delighted to see her when she rode into the settlement yesterday afternoon. She'd spent seven years in Imladris training, and father and daughter had seen each other rarely. Anardil, having been a ranger for all of Jeren's life, had continued to ride patrol for the Dúnedain, reporting back to the largest settlement in the Angle.

That's what Jeren aspired to—fighting shoulder to shoulder with the Dúnedain rangers. For seven long, hard years Jeren had worked with fierce intensity to prove she could hold her own in battle. She'd spent countless hours on the training fields with sword and bow. Endless nights she'd camped without the warmth of fire, buried as she was now in brush and weeds, hiding from the instructors as part of survival drills. None of the Elven trainees ever so much as lifted a finger to help her, and Jeren always suspected that perhaps Glorfindel had warned them off. He knew—as did she—that any lesson not learned by one's own sweat and toil, was not a lesson likely to leave the full impact it should.

In the end Glorfindel had been impressed enough with her skill that he had pronounced her ready. But apparently an Elf lord's opinion mattered not when gender prejudice reared its ugly head among the Dúnedain.

She remembered how the hall had grown silent—tomb like—after she'd made her request to their Chieftain. Then the place erupted with the grumbling and growling of the men. Words like 'crazy' and 'fetched in the head' wove through the crowd.

Anardil's shoulders sagged as he walked away from her. He seemed ashamed to have sired her. Did he not remember training her himself? Why had he done so, if not for this? He'd treated her as one of his own recruits, complete with discipline deemed very harsh to visit upon a mere girl. She'd grown up to be exactly as he'd made her—a warrior. So why was he ashamed of her now? _Why?_

All around them the voices of the men had grown louder, more irate. Aragorn finally lifted his hands and in a barely raised voice said, "This is finished. Everyone go about your errands." He then circled Jeren's shoulders with one of his arms and led her and his Elven brothers to his own office, of sorts, in an alcove at the far end of the hall.

Aragorn motioned her into one of the two wooden chairs sitting before a plain, oaken desk. Really only a table, it held an ink pot, a small bag of sand for blotting, and a quill. There were no papers or parchments littering the scarred top.

Aragorn took his pipe from his belt, filled the bowl with weed and lit it. He settled himself on the corner of the desk. He inhaled deeply then let the smoke escape from between his barely parted lips. He looked at her as if considering her request.

Hope burned in her heart. He'd not told her 'no' yet.

But when he spoke it was in a quiet, firm voice. "I am sorry, Jeren. You know that women do not join in the ranks of the rangers of the Dúnedain. I cannot fathom circumstances in which I would even contemplate making an exception in your case."

Jeren's heart fell to her feet, then rebound, hitting the top of her head. "I believe the circumstances _are_ extreme!" she said, louder and with much more force than she'd meant to convey. She closed her eyes for a moment, composing herself, trying to kill the anger in her voice. She leaned forward, looking him in the eye, even though he towered above her, and said, her voice lowered, "Do you not remember what befell me at the hands of Orcs? I have ever since aimed my entire life toward the defense of others from those vile creatures, that no one else need suffer a similar fate—or death—at their hands could I help it." He shook his head and started to answer her.

"Lord Aragorn, _please_." She hated the plaintive tone of her voice as she pleaded with him not to kill her life's ambition arbitrarily. Turning to Elladan, she continued, "Lord Glorfindel would not have sent me on my way without his being sure of my ability. You know this, Elladan." Then her eyes sought Elrohir's, telling him the same thing with her gaze. If anyone would side with her, it would be Elrohir. Elladan tended to still treat her like a child, something she could not understand, now that she was well past majority.

Elladan looked at her with what she hoped was sympathy and not pity. But her hope died at his first words. "Jeren, you are so young." He paused a moment, looking at her intently. "Yes, you've had the finest training, but that was for your own defense, not for wielding a blade in battle. To save your life, not to go do war alongside men. Glorfindel does not sanction your presence here. You know this is true."

Jeren suddenly gained her feet, the backs of her legs sending the chair squealing across the stone floor several inches. "I know no such thing, Elladan. I've spent years learning and drilling and sweating and breaking my back so that I might help with our common cause. Yes, I need to defend myself, but I also need to defend others who are defenseless. I _need_ to do this, Elladan. And Lord Glorfindel knows of my plan—I've told him of it often enough." She stopped to collect her thoughts, unsure of just how much of her heart she wanted to share. But her desperation won and her hopes and desires came spilling from her mouth. "I cannot hunt and kill Orcs on my own. No one can with the state our world is in, be they man, Elf or woman. I _need_ to be a part of a group. I _want_ to be a part of _this_ group—my heritage demands it of me. I'm trained and ready. For the Valar's sake, my own father—_a ranger_, _himself_—schooled me when I was a mere child. I only need to be given the chance."

Aragorn rose and stood directly before her. "You may be ready for the rangers, but I can assure you that the rangers are not ready for you." He gestured with his pipe into the greater part of the hall from which they'd just come. "You heard their anger and resentment at the mere idea of a woman joining them. Do you believe, even were I to give you my blessing and take your pledge, that these men would accept you and allow you to join in their ranks? You cannot think that, given how smart I know you to be."

Jeren searched the eyes around her for some inkling of support. "Elrohir?" she said, as if he were her only last thread of hope.

The smile that usually etched Elrohir's face was not present. He shook his head. "No, Jeren. It's simply not possible."

She had then left the hall without another word; had retrieved her gear and her horse and had gone. And now here she was buried in a pile of itchy brush, crying over this rejection. Not only had Lord Aragorn's refusal hurt her, Elladan's denial cut her to the bone. It was ever Elladan, the love of her life, the Elf she adored above any man, who had the power to break her heart. His voice along with the others had denied her most fervent desire.

And hadn't Lord Elrond told her this would be the outcome? Hadn't she seen the war in his eyes when she'd told him she was leaving—at war with himself, contemplating the effectiveness of beating the message into her head? She'd watched him rise from his desk, his barely controlled anger, the balled fists, the lines that hardened around his mouth, the arched brows drawn together, his angry words, quiet but steely, "Jeren, do not do this. The Dúnedain rangers are a strictly traditional group of _men. _They will never accept you as one of them."

She knew Lord Elrond's anger only masked what he truly felt: the hurt of her leaving him and his complete concern for her welfare. And somewhere in her heart she knew Lord Elrond was right in his prediction of Aragorn's reaction, but she'd refused to believe it. She could not abandon her goals, not even for him. She'd ridden away from Imladris, she herself, breaking the heart of someone she loved.

Lord Elrond had been right, and now it seemed she stood at a crossroads. Should she give up her dream or fight alone, which really wasn't an option at all? _Valar, giving up on her only goal in life was not an option!_ She remembered how she'd felt as she recuperated from the vicious Orc attack. Every day—every hour—she spent thinking of the revenge she would take on the vile beasts that had left her for dead in the dirt of her yard. Forgetting any of that was not a choice.

How could she make these stubborn men see that she could fight with them—help, not hinder them?

Jeren considered that thought. That's exactly what she had to do! _Make them see_. It would be risky; she'd be alone and vulnerable to Orcs and the Valar knew what else that roamed the countryside with her. And she might die trying to turn the rangers' opinions of her. But what good was life without hope? How could she live and not follow her heart?

She would do it! She would become as a shadow to them, following them as they patrolled. She'd be out of sight until a battle erupted, and then she would show them! Demonstrate to them just how deadly she could be with a blade and bow. She knew she must steer clear of Elrohir and Elladan—their Elven senses could ruin her plans before they even began.

Her heart lifted with her new plan. She yawned and settled into the half sleep she needed so desperately. Even though she was well hidden, Jeren could not possibly relax enough to go deeply to sleep while she was alone, the possibility of Orcs stumbling upon her only too real. Her past flared in her mind momentarily, but she controlled it and knocked away the images that haunted her. Lord Elrond's ability to heal minds had served her well.

Placing her hand on the hilt of her long knife, Jeren loosened the blade in the sheath. She yawned again and closed her eyes. She smiled to herself. She'd convince them she could do the job.

Or die trying…

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Jeren woke with a start.

She didn't move, didn't even breathe for the seconds it took to determine what exactly had disturbed her shallow sleep. She relaxed a little with her first breath. There were no sounds in the night except for the rustle of leaves and brush in the slight breeze. It was nearly dawn; the complete darkness of the night had faded to a dim slate gray. Completely still, Jeren let her senses free, listening intently, scenting the air.

There was nothing—nothing but a feeling of being watched. She'd felt this way so many times in her training she'd learned not to ignore it. She heard the faintest echo of a footfall.

There were Elves about; she knew it in her soul.

She continued to listen, making sure she'd made no mistake. Orcs could be stealthy at times, but for the most part, their misshapen bodies and warped legs made for noisy progress. And they had a stench to them that no one could miss. She knew they weren't in the near vicinity. Straining her ears, she heard the faint step again. In her mind's eye she formed an image of the scene: the Elf was behind her to her right.

Gathering her feet under her, Jeren silently took her long knife out of the sheath. Bracing herself, she stood, turning and raising her weapon in one fluid motion. The Elf held up his hands in surrender, Jeren's knife pointed at his throat.

"Impressive, Young Lady," Elrohir said. Jeren couldn't tell if she heard genuine admiration in his voice or just more of his unceasing charm. She had to fight the smile that would reveal just how much she loved seeing him again. She relaxed and let her hand with the knife fall to her side. She then sheathed it.

She knew that Elrohir had let her hear his footsteps, deliberately making enough noise to get her attention. The realization didn't lift her flagging spirits any. Gathering her bow, blanket and water skin, she turned away from him and waded through the tall brush and scrub, making for clearer surroundings.

Elrohir followed her closely. He ducked sideways when she let go of a low branch as she made her way, knowing she'd done so on purpose. He chuckled.

Jeren turned on him, venting her growing frustration, "What _so_ amuses you, Elrohir?"

"I was actually thinking about my brother and how right he is about you. You're _so _young."

Jeren shot him a look that might have killed lesser Elves, but continued toward where Two—her mare—was tethered. The faintest hint of pink and orange tinted the crest of the eastern horizon. The air was crisp and cool, belying the warmth that the day would bring. "Why are you here? What do you want, other than to torment me, of course?"

Elrohir walked around Two, whispering words to the mare as he ran his hand down its neck. He kept speaking to the horse with lowered, murmuring Elvish words, all the while caressing along its back. Two was between him and Jeren, but they may as well have been leagues apart. "I came to be sure that you were safe."

"I am. You can go away now." Jeren plunked the saddle onto the horse's back, the stirrup only missing Elrohir's face because he dodged out of harm's way.

"Do you not see how you are acting as a child? Pouting and running away is something a youngling would do, not a person of your age."

"Go away, Elrohir." Jeren hoped that he couldn't hear the slight trembling of tears in her voice. She pulled the cinch tight. She said not another word as she placed the bit between the horse's teeth, pulling the halter in place. She patted Two between the eyes and gathered the reins, drawing the horse along behind her.

Elrohir grabbed her arm, turning her back to face him. "Jeren, you cannot be out here alone. The danger is too great."

"How do you think I made it to the stronghold, if not alone Elrohir? Besides you heard for yourself I'm neither wanted nor needed by the Dúnedain."

"Oh, Jeren, how hard-headed can one female be?" Elrohir looked around, as if trying to find someone sane to talk to. "There are plenty of roles for you to fulfill with your people. Why do you insist on one that you cannot have?"

Jeren wanted to scream at him, tell him those 'other' roles were not to her liking. They included being a wife and mother and all the duties that went along with them—making meals, scrubbing pots, tending a cabin. Perhaps one day, that might be her chosen place in life, but not now. She had to avenge herself and her honor. She had to help with their common cause.

But she knew that to open her mouth at all would open her soul, and painful tears would escape her eyes. And the one thing she'd never wanted him or any man to see was any weakness in her at all.

She looked at his hand clasping her arm, then looked in his eyes. He released her.

"At least tell me what you plan, Jeren," he said. "Where will you go?"

"I'll be around, Elrohir. More than that I cannot say."

Jeren mounted her horse and looked at him again, wanting so badly to tell him her deepest heart. But she knew she could not. Not now.

She dug her heels into Two's flanks and trotted out of Elrohir's sight. As soon as she knew she was well away from him, she stopped. Stepping down from the mare, Jeren repeated to herself, "I'll be around Elrohir. When you least expect it."

*A/N: For the purposes of this story I am making up this ranger stronghold. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I thought it was something that did exist in Tolkien's work, but I've researched with what books I have and have not come across any reference to this place. Maybe I read it in another fan fiction story, and if so, I'd love to give the author credit, but I do not know if this is even the case. So, I'm simply going to make the place up and try to stick as closely to Tolkien's world as I can in the process.

Also, about Aragorn being the Chieftain. Certainly he was, but mostly he was Strider until well into the War of the Ring. I don't know that he embraced his role as Chieftain with the rangers prior to the WOTR, so I've taken a little artistic license with him, too, I suppose, if this is not canon.

Evereven


	2. The Battle

_Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all its characters, races, and creatures, as well as our beloved Middle Earth, belongs to JRR Tolkien._

It had been a surprise—and a mistake.

And Jeren watched it all unfold.

Two of the Dúnedain scouts had been observing this Orc cave for days—arriving just before dawn to see the beasts pour in and just after dusk to watch them leave—but somehow the numbers had become skewed. Jeren decided that additional Orcs had joined the original band of twenty after the rangers' last reconnaissance. That could be the only explanation for the overwhelming slew of the brutes that surged from the opening now. There had to be at least forty of them.

This had been her first and only chance to join with the rangers, show them her talent with bow and blade. A few days after she'd seen Elrohir, a small company of rangers left the settlement to hunt Orcs. Jeren followed them at a safe distance, camping when they camped, riding when they rode. Each day at dawn the rangers had broken up into scouting groups, and one pair that Jeren followed had found this cave, which they'd returned to each morning and evening. They'd watched it for three days, noting numbers of Orcs and their relative strength. When and how the extra Orcs had joined the others, even Jeren did not know.

Jeren waited in the trees and brush fringing the cave's entrance. Before she could initiate an alarm call—one she knew the twins would recognize—a young ranger's premature arrow sang through the clearing surrounding the cave mouth, and pierced the chest of one of the beasts. And now committed to battle, the rangers could do nothing but fight for their lives.

And now she paused. The odds of this not being a complete rout were out of the realm of reason. With the ranger force being only twelve, including Elladan and Elrohir, the chances they'd be successful, and live to tell about it, were laughable. They were grossly outnumbered—as Jeren had been all those years ago back at her cabin. And that same intense fear rippled through her belly.

At least Aragorn was not among them—they wouldn't lose their leader in this fiasco. But the fact that her father and Elrohir and Elladan _were_ sent shivers of horror down her spine. This was her first real battle—other than the one she'd had alone, weaponless, back at her house all those years ago. Even though she'd skirmished with Orcs in the company of the Elves of Imladris, there were no instructors here. There weren't ten novice warrior Elves at her side, nor three instructors guiding her, correcting her should she make a misstep. She was basically alone again. She was petrified.

But the longer she looked on, the more certain she was that she could not just sit here and watch. She had told the men that this—what was happening before her now—was her aspiration in life. Did she believe it, or was she a coward?

A coward. _She was no coward! _But she _did _have sense. What good could she do? Getting herself killed would accomplish nothing. She closed her eyes and took two deep breaths, preparing herself to charge into the melee. When she opened her eyes again, she hesitated again, knowing the uselessness of throwing herself to certain death. She had to hold tight, be a scout this time, and see to the wounded—if any yet lived—when the battle was done. If the Orcs took prisoners, she would follow them at a distance, marking their location, and then return to the stronghold for help.

Jeren left her horse and checked her quiver. It was completely full. She quickly climbed into the trees and painstakingly made her way to within good range of the fight. Having Elves as teachers, especially those from the Woodland realm, certainly had its rewards. Mirkwood messengers had been frequent guests in Imladris, and Jeren had gotten to know them well. They'd been kind enough to tutor her in the use of the trees as cover in a battle. And now those lessons helped her beyond measure. But it would do no good to get too close. Orcs could climb and they would be on her in seconds once they found out where she hid if she wasn't careful. There were just too many of them.

She took her time, making each arrow count. She only shot when a ranger had a chance of survival. She didn't want to draw undue attention to herself by rapidly firing from one place. And there was a limit to her arrows. They each had to find a mark.

She cringed as she saw Anardil take a blow to the side of his head, an Orc using the hilt of his short, curved sword to lay the ranger out. She had no clear shot, so she watched in horror as that same beast plunged the blade into her father's torso.

This was incomprehensible to her. _Her Papa dead?_ The shock was almost too much to bear. The battle seemed stopped, her eyes only on her father's prone form. She shook her head, trying to lift the stunned paralysis she found herself in. She'd not seen if he'd been dealt a fatal strike. And right now, she didn't have time to think about it. With effort she brought herself back to the present and this battle at hand.

Elladan and Elrohir fought back to back. They had to be tiring. They were Elves, but even Elves had limits.

"No, no, no…" Jeren said under her breath as she gazed at the carnage. Coldness gathered in the pit of her belly as she realized there were no more rangers standing. The remaining Orcs were concentrated around the Elves. She started firing arrows more quickly, hoping no Orc would seek her out in the trees.

And in the end, it made no difference. The hatred that Orcs bear Elves became apparent. The beasts hardly noticed their numbers decreasing; one or two chanced a glance in Jeren's direction when they saw a comrade fall. Mostly all their attention was on their Elven prey.

And then the incomprehensible happened again. One of the Elves—Jeren was too far away, she couldn't tell them apart—went down; an Orc blade plunged into his chest. Some of the Orcs descended on the Elf, hitting him with fists, kicking him repeatedly. The rest of the Orcs took advantage of the other Elf's distraction and swamped him, taking him down, too.

Terrified, Jeren reached into her quiver to continue firing, in hopes that she could save at least one of the Elves. But her fingers grasped at air—she was all out of arrows.

Jeren watched on in utter despair, as the Orcs brought one of the Elves to his feet. He thrashed and fought until the beasts got tired of trying to restrain him. One Orc bashed a rock into the side the Elf's head, which sent him crashing to the ground. A couple of the Orcs tied the Elf's hands and feet, and then one of the larger ones slung the Elf over his shoulder. By unspoken agreement, the body of Orcs turned and headed off to the south.

Jeren barely had the presence of mind to count them as they passed beneath her. Twelve. Out of the forty some odd Orcs that had poured out of the cave's mouth not twenty minutes ago, only a dozen remained.

All that remained of the rangers and Elves lay dead or dying on the bloody ground.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Stunned, Jeren slid down the tree to the dirt. With her back against the trunk, she closed her eyes, hoping that it had all been a bad dream. But opening them did not alter what she saw.

Carnage surrounded her. It had been a bloodbath. It would be the faces she would always remember. Expressions etched as if flesh were granite—fear—despair—horror—would forever be seared into her memory.

She drew a deep breath. Moaning came from someone, but no discernible movement caught her eye. She wandered among the torn bodies—of men and Orcs—directing herself toward the sound, collecting her arrows from dead Orcs as she passed.

She knelt when she came to a man whose eyes opened at her approach. She did not know him, but she had seen him in the hall—one of those men who'd protested so loudly that she not be allowed to join with the rangers. He'd been gutted, his entrails spilled out of him onto the ground like bloody rope. His breathing was ragged and panting, and as she drew closer to him, he grabbed at her sleeve. "Finish it, girl!" he wheezed. "For the Valar's sake, do me this one last service."

Kill a man? _He'd asked her to kill him!_ Could she do it? He was obviously beyond help and if she did not do as he asked, who knew how long he would suffer? She could not permit that. Jeren took his dagger from his belt and without allowing herself to think about it a second longer, she plunged the blade into his heart. He convulsed and then went limp, his eyes staring vacant. She pulled the dagger free, wiped it on what was left of his tunic and replaced it into his belt. One more fleshly statue amidst so many others.

She fought back intense nausea, then she got up from her crouch and began to search for any living thing. An Orc grabbed at her ankle as she passed him, but she did not hesitate dispatching him from life with her blade.

She felt like crying. So much death and blood surrounded her. Jeren continued on her trek from man to man, being careful of Orcs as she passed.

But the rangers were all still. All of them gone. Ten men and one Elf would be no more.

She finally reached Anardil. Jeren dropped to her knees, hoping against all hope that he lived. He was still as death. As her fingers grazed the side of his neck, his eyes opened, and one of his hands grabbed her arm so tightly she thought he would break it. His other hand contained his dagger and it was up at her throat before she could whisper his name.

"Papa, tis me!"

They both relaxed by degrees, Anardil allowing the hand with the knife to fall away. His grip on her lessened gradually. He blinked his eyes, as if he couldn't believe what they saw.

"Jeren?" Anardil's voice was scratchy, like he hadn't spoken for days. But the more he gazed at her, the more relieved he looked. He smiled and then chuckled. "What a sight for sore eyes you are, girl."

Sore eyes, indeed, Jeren thought. His left eye, swelling more by the minute, was bruising, the skin turning a dark purple. He had a gash in his temple where the Orc had hit him with the hilt of his blade, and blood was drying in a trail that disappeared into his hair just above his ear. That reminded her that she'd seen the Orc plunge his blade into her father. Her trembling hands made their way down the front of his bloodied tunic, searching for the wound.

"Help me up," he told her as he struggled to rise. "We need to see to the others."

"There are no others," Jeren told him flatly as she pressed her hands against his chest in an attempt to keep him from rising.

"You're sure of that, are you? Think you _mayhap_ some of them might be lying here—as I have been—too hurt to flee but mindful that someone—or something—walked amongst us?"

"Lie still—you've been wounded." Jeren was no healer and knew not what she would do when she discovered the gaping hole that must be in her father. When she found what she sought, she almost cried with relief. While it was an awful cut, and probably very painful, it seemed to be just a flesh wound in the side. _Thank the Valar!_

"I'll keep," Anardil told her impatiently. "Help me up and that's an order, girl."

Jeren knew that tone and those words. They brooked no argument. Her relief at finding him alive overshadowed the anger she felt toward him for his betrayal at the settlement; so she would not ignore this command. She eased him into a sitting position and he swayed where he sat. The blow to the head had been severe enough to knock him out. It probably caused him dizziness now. He grimaced at the pain.

They were both startled, reaching for weapons, when one of the rangers Jeren had thought dead sat up. He was a young man with black hair and rich silver eyes.

Anardil swore and said, "Scare what's left of the life right out of me, Rhyse, why don't ya?"

Jeren could tell the man—Rhyse—wanted to shake his head to clear it, but could see him consciously decide against it. Dizziness obviously assailed him as well. She watched him glance around at all the bodies—both ranger and Orc—and saw his face fall in full remembrance of what had just occurred.

"Rhyse, are ye hale?" Anardil asked. "We needs be up seeing to survivors."

"I'm hale enough, sir," was the reply. "It seems the only hurt I've got is this bump on the head." Rhyse gained his feet unsteadily, began moving around to check on those prone around him.

Anardil knew he'd not be on his feet for long were he to stand. The dizzy nausea that came with this headache, not to mention loss of blood from his side, would have him out again were he to try it. So he directed Rhyse and Jeren from where he sat, telling them to touch every man.

"Over here," Rhyse called after a few moments. "I've found Elladan—I think. And he's alive."

Taking one last look at Anardil, Jeren hurried over to the Elf. She knelt again, placing her hand against his neck, feeling a pulse. The slightest rise and fall of his chest confirmed for her that there was life yet in his body.

He was beaten so badly, she hesitated in naming this Elf as Elladan, but the longer she looked at his features, the more convinced she was of it. While they were almost identical, there were subtle differences in the twins she'd learned to recognize over the years. Elladan's face was just a fraction thinner; Elrohir's jaw a tad squarer. Elrohir's nose had been broken before, so Elladan's used to be bit straighter—until it had been injured in this battle. Elladan had Elrond's brow—identical. Elrohir's brows must have showed his mother's influence—they were not quite as arched. Yes, this was decidedly Elladan.

His entire face was bloody. His nose was broken and his eyes blackened. She bent over him, examining the wound that had brought him down. She'd believed it had been in his chest, but it was too high. It was only a shoulder wound. But the beating and kicking he'd received was so vicious, certainly he had other injuries inside his body.

In a quiet voice, Anardil said, "We needs find some type of shelter, away from here. Who knows if those villains will yet return to this cave? Dark is falling. Jeren, which way did the Orcs go? Did they take anyone with them?"

"They took—Elrohir, I suppose, since this is indeed Elladan. Heading south. There were only twelve left, Papa. I should go after them."

"Tis growing dark. None of us needs be about after sunfall. We'll see to a proper sending off for our lads come morn, if the brutes do not return to this forsaken hole. For now, our first priority is finding a sheltered place and paying some attention to the Elf."

"And what about you, Papa?" Jeren asked with genuine concern. "You've been cut by an Orc blade. You need to be seen to."

"I will be. But first you do as I say. Have you checked all our lads lain out here?"

At Jeren's nod, he continued, "Good. Where've you been hiding, girl? You'll need to take us there, if there's room enough for four. I'll not rest in the hole those beasts just came from; the stench alone would finish me off. First, you must make a litter for our Elven friend. Hurry now, it's getting' on to full dark. "

Jeren and Rhyse found two stout saplings and cut them to a manageable length with the hatchet Jeren kept in her gear. She also retrieved her blanket from the bedroll behind her saddle, and with Rhyse's help, made cuts into its sides. Then they were able to tie it to the two poles they'd cut.

Elladan was lightweight considering his height, and Rhyse and Jeren placed him on the blanket without much strain. With a length of rope Jeren always carried, they tied the litter to her horse's saddle to drag it.

It was growing quite dark by the time they started off for the place Jeren had been camping the few days before. The land was hilly hereabouts. While not mountainous, the valley they were in had been shadowed enough, before the battle, for the Orcs to feel safe to emerge from their cavern. A little more than half an hour had elapsed since the disastrous encounter between the Orcs and the rangers, and the sun was well and truly setting now.

Since Anardil could barely stand, much less walk, Jeren helped her father onto her horse. Together with Rhyse, Jeren led Two through the brush, ever mindful of listening for the Orcs' return. Rhyse stumbled twice and Jeren finally convinced him to allow her to help him. He placed one of his arms across her shoulders, and they continued their trek to cover.

She'd been camping beneath a rocky outcropping about half a league from where the battle had been fought. It had been fairly overgrown when she first chose it, but she'd hacked at some of the smaller trees and brush that grew up next to the rocks, clearing a small place for herself. Now before she took the others inside, she first chopped out a larger area to hold them all.

Jeren busied herself making a small fire. It was a risk, but she needed light and hot water to tend to the wounds of those depending on her.

As concerned as Jeren was for her father and Elladan, her heart worried after Elrohir—taken captive by the beasts he'd been fighting. She had personal knowledge of their treachery, and she shuddered to think of anyone—especially one of the twins—in their clutches. He'd be tortured, used and then killed. And since he was Elfkind, the Orcs would make great sport of him. She thought about the long night stretched out before her—and before Elrohir. A long, torturous night for them both. Her only hope was that they'd keep him alive to play with him. Long enough that she could find and rescue him. But even as frantic as she was to get started tracking after the Orc band, even she was not foolhardy enough to go out after darkness had fallen.

And she felt as if the waiting just might kill her.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"You want me to what?" Jeren asked in disbelief. While she had known that she'd be called upon to tend to the wounds, it had not occurred to her that Anardil would order her to stitch him up. Rhyse was here, and probably much more experienced than she at this endeavor. But when she voiced that opinion, Anardil asked her in a quiet voice, "Have you gotten so smart that you question my orders?" At her quick downward glance and slight shake of her head, he added, "Rhyse, like me, is probably still seein' double from that conk on the head he took. I'd just as soon my arm not be stitched to my side, thank you very much." She didn't see him smile at her unease.

Jeren had occupied herself getting water to boiling over their fire, in a small metal bowl Lord Elrond had once given her to use during survival drills. She'd torn one of her shirts up for bandages. Rhyse had set about looking after Elladan. Jeren had tried to get Rhyse to rest, but he would not. By Rhyse's own admission, he was not good for much at the moment, but he could tend to Elladan even with his head in such a knot, as it were. They were all keeping ears attuned to their surroundings. That was an innate trait of a warrior in the wild.

The twins' horses had come up to the campsite fairly soon after Jeren had hidden the rangers and Elladan there. The beasts had come in on smooth and silent hooves. So much so that they'd hardly even startled any of them. One minute they weren't there, and the next they were. Anardil said that the horses had instinctively known that one of the Elves was within the small clearing. Jeren was simply relieved, because the twins always included medicaments in their saddlebags, as well as needles and small knives. She had a chance of doing some good, if Elladan ever woke up to direct her in the use of some of the herbs that he carried.

"You should have been seen to well before now." Jeren knew she pushed her luck, admonishing Anardil in this way. She was first cleansing the wound before she would stitch it. "The Orc's blade could have been poisoned or fouled, you know."

He looked up at her sideways and quirked a brow. "Aye. The blade could have been poisoned—whereas I'd be well on my way toward death's door by now. And it most assuredly was fouled. Orcs never clean their blades; they just hone all the gore off when the sword is too dull to cut cleanly any more. 'Twill be more the miracle if the wound does _not_ take infection, than if it does. I'm sure the twins' things will yield some herb that will fight it."

"Do you know which herbs to use, Papa?" Jeren looked at him hopefully.

"Sadly, that is something I have not paid close attention to. I've always left the healing to them, and been glad for it."

As if knowing he was being spoken of, Elladan groaned and shifted in his discomfort. Rhyse had been bathing the blood off Elladan's face, evidently using more force than the Elf could stand on his broken nose.

Suddenly Elladan started—calling out Elrohir's name in a strangled voice. He would have jumped to his feet if Rhyse had not been there to hold him down. As it was the Elf made it to his elbows, frantically looking around for his twin. He then grasped the front of Rhyse's tunic with both hands and asked, "Where is Elrohir? Where is my brother?"

Rhyse gripped Elladan's fists and removed them from his clothing, then tried to ease the Elf back down. But Elladan would have none of it. "Where is he? They took him, didn't they?"

Jeren was impressed with the way Rhyse handled this crisis. As Jeren spent time with Rhyse, she began to study him. He was young—mayhap her own age. And given that he was a ranger of the Dúnedain, he'd likely been in the company of the twins before. Yet with the Elves' exalted status of being the sons of Elrond, she might have expected Rhyse to treat them with awe, not familiarity. So instead of imploring help from her father, as she had half expected, Rhyse told Elladan, "Lie back down and I will tell you where your brother is. But I will not speak until you have done so."

Jeren would not have been surprised had Elladan simply shoved Rhyse aside and rose. In fact she was disappointed that he did not do so. He eased himself back down with a grimace of pain. That he had complied with Rhyse's request at all proved just how injured he was.

"Where is he?" Elladan asked again, his voice ragged.

Rhyse did not know Jeren's history with the twins, but Anardil did, and her father motioned her over to Elladan's side. This was a blow best delivered by someone Elladan loved and trusted, not a relative stranger to him.

Jeren leaned over Elladan, someone she loved more than just about anyone else in the world. He looked into her eyes, read the story there and closed his for a moment. When he opened them again, he said, "He still lives—I can sense his presence." Jeren saw sadness, despair—even fear—in Elladan's eyes. She almost couldn't bear it.

"I will leave at dawn and I will find him, Elladan," she said. "I swear to you I will not fail." He nodded that he'd heard. "Now, my friend," she continued, "I am going to fetch your saddlebags and you will tell me which medicines I will find in them to guard against the taint of Orc-blade. Both you and my father have been cut by them and you need tending to." She rose to retrieve the bags from both of the Elven horses.

Anardil called her to him. "You should not promise him that which you cannot do."

She frowned at her father, not really comprehending what he was saying. "I can and will do exactly as I told him."

"No, you will not." Anardil looked her square in the eyes as he spoke to her. "I have plans for you tomorrow and they do not include running after that Orc band. You will go to the stronghold and seek help—and those _men _you retrieve will go after the Orcs who have Elrohir."

"There is no time, Papa," Jeren said with quiet vehemence. "I will not leave Elrohir with those monsters for any longer than I might."

"You will do as I tell you, girl." The hushed, direct tone of Anardil's words would have left her cold at one time in her life, and the expression on her father's face left no doubt that he was as serious as she'd ever seen him.

Yet anger at Anardil—for so many reasons—suddenly flared in her heart. For leaving her and her mother alone for months at a time all those many years ago; for not being there when her mother sickened and died, leaving Jeren to care for her and then bury her by herself; for not coming to her aid when the Orcs attacked her; _his faithlessness in the hall at the settlement, when he turned his back in apparent shame on her only request._

She fought down her rage with effort. "You taught me yourself how to track, Papa. And the Elves of Imladris have perfected that ability in me. No one could do a better job of it than I, unless it be Lord Aragorn or Glorfindel or one of the twins themselves." Jeren knelt beside her father in a futile attempt at keeping Elladan from hearing what she was saying. With steel in her tone she lowered her voice and said, "I know firsthand what Orcs find sporting, Father, and I will not leave someone I love to their vile treatment for any longer than I must. I survived what they did to me, but Elves are not so flexible. The twins' own mother could not continue living in this world with the knowledge of what the beasts had done to her. Think you they will not torment Elrohir in the same way?"

The tic near Anardil's left eye told Jeren how close she tread to taking the full brunt of his temper. But he inhaled sharply and looked away, seeming to consider what she had said. When he looked at her again, the same steely expression on Jeren's face showed in his. "You—will—do—as—I—tell—you." He punctuated each word and his gaze did not falter.

Her gray eyes met his square on. "I will do what I must. If you have not noticed, Papa, I am no longer your little girl. And Lord Aragorn made it abundantly clear that I will never be a Dúnedain ranger. While I will always seek your council, I do not take orders from you unthinking as I might once have done. I promised Elladan that I will find Elrohir and I will do it." Jeren rose, and without a backward glance at her father, continued on her way to get the saddlebags from the Elven horses.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

An hour later found Jeren seated cross-legged beside Elladan, tending to him. She'd first stitched her father's wound. Even as angry as she was with him—on several issues—she found no pleasure in the pain which she brought him. He'd tried again to dissuade her from what he termed 'her folly,' but she kept her eyes on her work and did not even acknowledge that she heard him.

Now her mission was to stitch Elladan's wound. Since she had practiced on her father—placing ten stitches in a cut that truthfully only needed half that—she found the proposition of sewing on Elladan not near the trial she would have thought when Anardil first suggested she take up the needle. Elladan had fully regained his wits, and he protested long that she need not ply her needle on him at all.

"I am Elfkind. I will heal quickly without need of sewing." Jeren halfway believed him, but her need for some sort of justice would not allow for her total convincing. He'd once sat right beside her and watched Elrohir as he sewed a wound of hers—under her complete and utter protest—and he'd not aided her. No, as far as she was concerned, he needed sewing in the worst way. _And if he kept up with his whining, she just might sew his lips together too_.

"I have only your word that your healing will be swift," Jeren said. He began another spate of protestations, but she ignored him and started with the sewing of the wound in his shoulder. He grimaced and ground his teeth as the needle pierced his skin.

"At least you were offered drink to dull the pain, Jeren," he told her accusingly between his clenched teeth. His eyes would have wounded her had she been paying any attention to them at all. She might have wondered at his seeming to read her mind, bringing up the subject of the twins' tending of her all those years ago, but again, she was paying his words no notice. She continued with her mending. It did not take long to place five neatly lined stitches in the cut, after which she sat back satisfied. Taking Elladan's directions that she'd already used on Anardil, she mixed up a poultice to bind to the wound with a bandage. She was finding the treatment of injury to her liking after all.

When she had completed her task of bandaging Elladan, he said, "Help me to sit up. My nose is what's paining me most of all." She shot him a look of incredulity. "Despite what you think," he said, irritated, "what I told you before is true. I am already mending, and I have no serious injury." Her frown deepened, complete skepticism shouting from her face. "Jeren, you are sorely trying me. Help me sit up. At most I have a couple of cracked ribs, which are paining me some, but it is my nose that needs attention. I cannot breathe lying down. Perhaps sitting up will help."

She eased him into a sitting position. She had to admit that his voice had a distinct nasal tone to it, and she'd known of the break the minute she'd seen him after the battle. He felt of his nose with both hands then let out a sigh. "You will have to set it straight, Jeren. I cannot do it myself. He gave her half a smile. "And besides, I really cannot breathe through it the way that it is."

Jeren's heart lifted just a little at seeing even a ghost of a smile on Elladan's face. She knew his every thought was with his brother, but she also knew that his fretting over it would not hurry him on his way to Elrohir's side any faster.

She didn't suppose there was truly any art to pushing a nose back into the center of someone's face, so she thrust her unease aside. She placed her fingers on each side of Elladan's nose and before either of them could think much about it, she shoved it firmly back into place. Elladan's harsh intake of breath, as well as his squinted eyes and drawn mouth, told her just how much the move had hurt him. But they both knew he daren't yell or shout the curse words he so desperately wanted to hurl in her direction.

A fine trickle of blood came out of one of his nostrils. Jeren wiped it away with one of her cloths. After a few minutes Elladan opened his blackened eyes and with a calm Jeren doubted he actually felt, he said, "Thank you," in a voice barely above a whisper. She helped him lie back down and moved to rise, but he caught at her hand. "Do not leave without me in the morning, Jeren. I will be able to ride."

She rolled her eyes. "Elladan—"

"Do not leave me here, Jeren. Our continued friendship depends on what you do." His eyes never left hers.

Jeren looked at him for an extended moment, but said nothing. She rose and walked out of the clearing into the trees surrounding them.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Jeren busied herself making an herbal tea that Elladan had told her would fight infection in his and Anardil's wounds. So she made enough for Rhyse, as well; she knew it would soothe his headache. She sweetened it with honey, expecting it would taste vile without it.

As soon as everyone had settled for the night, Jeren prepared herself for her journey on the morrow. She packed everything she would need—and she was taking one of the Elven horses. They were of leaner build and faster besides, as well as much more enduring of long runs. She'd often wondered why she'd chosen Two as the mount she had when Glorfindel offered her the choice. But in her heart she knew it was because of Jones, her old horse she'd lost in the Orc attack at her house in the woods. Jones would always and forever have a soft place in Jeren's heart, and in loyalty to Jones' breeding, Jeren chose a Human bred horse for her own. And besides, she wearied sometimes of the perfection of Elves. She wanted a horse that had faults—just as she had. She'd named the mare Jones Two. However, on this mission, Two would not be the best choice. Jeren figured the mare would forgive her—eventually.

She dumped what was left of the tea into the fire, stirring the ashes and embers to completely kill it. She finally laid back on her bedroll, wondering not for the first time, why she didn't simply leave to go find Elrohir. Of course she knew why—the land was perilous after dark. Orcs and Wargs and Valar only knew what else skulked about after the sun went down.

Jeren lay there and prayed to the Valar, that they would watch over Elrohir until she could find him; that they would watch over her when she did; that they would aid her in her attempt to free him. It felt as if she laid there praying for a very long time. She did not believe she would ever sleep this night—but she was wrong.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**A/N Yes, I know the rangers would have had more sense than to stage a battle at sunset, rather than sunrise. What can I say, besides that it made for more drama?**


	3. The Rescue

_Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all its characters, races, and creatures, as well as our beloved Middle Earth, belongs to JRR Tolkien._

Well before the first tint of pink lit the eastern sky, Jeren was up and away on one of the twins' horses. In the dimness, she could not discern the horse's color, and for all she knew, that was the only way to tell the two mounts apart, they seemed so similar. She supposed that Elrohir and Elladan could identify them while blindfolded, but she could not tell in the dark and it mattered not.

She rode only a short distance when she stopped and waited for the sun to chase away the complete darkness of the very early morning. At this point in the day—still total blackness—the only thing she could be certain of was that she headed south. The quarter moon was almost gone past the horizon, and afforded no light to see by. She could not pick out the trail, and if she were to continue, ran the risk of having to backtrack if the Orcs veered either east or west.

She couldn't wait long; last night's tea that she'd heavily laced with valerian would not keep the men asleep much past dawn, and she could not risk them following her. Precious time would be lost if even one of them tracked her and dragged her back to the campsite, kicking and screaming. She had no illusion that that is exactly what would befall her should one of them catch up with her. Even though hurt, any and all three of them would think to protect her, when she knew good and well that she could protect herself.

And now she hunted Orcs alone. Twelve against one. Those were almost the same odds she faced when she was attacked at the cabin when she was sixteen. She was well past twenty now, and although she was trained to be hard, swift, and fatal, she was still only one person. Her plan was to find the Orcs' location and then report it to the stronghold. She would ride out with _those men—as her father had put it—_when they rode to rescue Elrohir, whether they would wish it or not.

When she could see well enough in the pre-dawn gray to find the Orcs' trail, she mounted the horse again. Elladan's horse. She'd chosen Elladan's horse, she could now tell. Elladan—and only he—rode this fine bay stallion. Jeren wondered at the horse's acceptance of her on his back, but didn't question it too deeply. She took the advantage as fate. Perhaps the horse needed Elrohir rescued as much as Jeren did. He probably knew as well as she did that it would in all likelihood kill his master should ill fortune befall the other son of Elrond.

She rode for a couple of hours, stopping at points when she grew confused about the trail. At times the Orcs split into more than one group. She knew what to look for, thanks to Glorfindel's lessons. He'd told the novice warriors of exactly this trick. Sometimes Orcs split up to confuse trackers. One must follow the middle trail at all times; the others would join it again—almost always without fail. And thus it had been for her throughout the morning.

When she began to feel prickly—her skin would crawl when she imagined herself drawing too close to Orcs—she stopped and dismounted, and let the horse follow her while she walked. They would be a little less conspicuous that way.

She finally came upon a spot where she could tell the Orcs had spent at least a short while milling about. The ground was well trod, and they'd obviously used it to relieve themselves. She found where the Orcs had left again, and the trail immediately split, this time into two groups; one of five and another with seven.

Which trail to follow? There was no longer a 'middle trail'. She did not allow herself to fret over this new revelation. She checked the tracks more closely. Yes. There was definitely a different set of prints among the group of five Orcs. So vague, yet the ground was trod upon, only not by an Orc. Elrohir was now running with them, they were no longer carrying him. He was purposely twisting his feet to cause these vague prints, since they were almost invisible. She'd had countless hours of practice at tracking Elves. If she did not know what Elf prints looked like, when they left any prints at all, she'd been a poor student, indeed.

She slowed the pace. _It wouldn't do to run headlong into their camp, now would it?_

It wasn't long until she found what she'd been looking for. The trees had grown thicker, their canopy shading the ground completely. Exactly a place where Orcs would hole up during the day, if they didn't have access to an underground lair. And there they were, with Elrohir staked to the ground, completely naked. He was dirty and bloody, with cuts and bruises over his entire frame. Jeren shuddered to think of the abuse he'd endured. He'd even been burned. The Orcs had taken embers from their fire and held them against the bottoms of his feet. That could have been simply a torture deemed enjoyable to the Orcs, but more probably was a safeguard should Elrohir even think to escape. Jeren's blood ran cold and then hot. She could not abide Orcs treating him this way. Anger flooded her. She took control of it, and assessed the situation.

She covertly crept around the entire perimeter of the camp. There were indeed only five Orcs present. _What had become of the other seven? Why had they split and remained split?_ She rechecked the perimeter, fanning out even farther, in hopes that she hadn't overlooked something—a trap for her, perhaps? But no, there were no other Orcs. She'd just have to wonder what became of the others at another time. For now, she must rescue Elrohir.

Finally confronted with the reality of Elrohir's rescue, she wondered just what she was going to do. At least she didn't have all twleve Orcs to deal with at one time. She was certainly thanking the Valar for that! Common sense was telling her to get back on Elladan's horse and go to the stronghold for help. Yet now that she'd set eyes on him, she found she could not leave him here alone.

She removed the saddle from Elladan's horse. It would be much easier riding double without it. She shoved it into some brush, piling a couple of large rocks to one side of it, marking the place. If Elladan so chose, he could find it again. She knew the loss of a saddle would pale in comparison to the loss of a brother, if they could not get away quickly and cleanly.

Her training took over and her nimble brain formed a tentative plan. She stopped to fill her pockets with rocks of varying sizes. As she climbed into the tree above where Elrohir was staked, she finalized her scheme. When she knew exactly what she had to do, she took a deep breath, took aim, and dropped a pebble that she'd collected off the ground right onto Elrohir's torso—just above his navel. She saw his abdomen flinch as the cold hardness of the stone bounced on his skin, and then to Jeren's dismay, remained there.

He opened his blackened eyes, trying to see what had landed on him. He then looked above himself, and she could tell exactly when he focused on her, perched in the tree directly above him. She had her finger to her lips, an unnecessary gesture to ensure his silence. His eyes closed again. _Was that a smile_, she wondered to herself? If it was, it was only a small imitation of one. She hoped he would be able to move once she cut him free. She prayed as she'd rarely prayed before that her plan to eliminate these Orcs would work. If she missed any one of them, they were so close to Elrohir, they could easily slit his throat before she could get another arrow notched. _Valar, please let the other seven Orcs stay gone. _

There were two Orcs, well away at opposite sides of the camp, that were supposed to be on guard; one was sleeping like his comrades, but the other was awake and appeared to be alert. She pierced his heart first with one of her arrows. Luckily, he died a quiet death, without making much of a sound. She paused to make sure the remaining Orcs had not detected any disturbance, then notched another arrow and let it go at the sleeping guard. He never knew what hit him—and the squeak that he made was so low, even she had trouble making it out. She held her breath again, waiting for any sign that her actions had caused the last three to wake. After several seconds she knew that they too would remain asleep.

Then she threw the largest stone she had as far as she could hurl it away from the camp. She'd aimed at a large branch of a tree, and the meeting of stone against wood made a resounding crack. Her luck was holding— all the Orcs woke up at the noise, looking around themselves stupidly. She quickly threw another stone in the same direction, hoping they would not catch her motion above them as she did so. They got up and armed themselves, but did not look her way. The ugliest one glanced back at Elrohir, but Elrohir kept his eyes closed, feigning sleep. Jeren hoped the brute would not notice the stone that still lay upon Elrohir's gut. Orcs were stupid as a rule, but every once in awhile, there would be one who seemed to use his head for other than a place to hold his ears, and Jeren prayed that this was not one of them.

Her luck held—satisfied that the Elf was still secure, the Orc glanced back toward where the rock had gone through the trees. Jeren could not chance any movement now. The Orcs had to shift away from Elrohir before she attempted to kill them. The Orcs finally noticed their two fallen comrades. They began grumbling in their guttural speech, animatedly pointing toward where Jeren had thrown the rock. They took her bait and began stealthily, for them anyway, walking toward the far edge of the clearing. With their backs now to her, Jeren silently notched an arrow and held her breath. This would have to be the fastest, cleanest shooting she'd ever done.

She let the arrow go, and had another notched and gone before the first Orc had entirely hit the ground. The second arrow hit the second Orc square in the heart as he turned to see what had befallen his comrade. The third arrow Jeren actually had time to make a choice as to where to aim—and she chose right between the third Orc's hideous eyes.

It was all over within moments. Jeren could hardly believe it had been so easy. This made her cautious. _Nothing is ever this easy_, she repeated to herself as she made her way down the tree to Elrohir. Keeping wary eyes darting around the campsite, and strained ears trained for any sound of the other Orcs' return, Jeren knelt beside Elrohir, took her knife out of her boot and commenced cutting his bonds. He sat up as soon as he was able, without a sound or groan. They were both on their feet instantly and running back the way Jeren had come.

Elladan's horse met them before they'd gone far. Elrohir embraced the animal, holding on to its neck for several seconds. Jeren had tied her water skin and blanket to the saddlebags, then placed them over the horse's withers. Elrohir untied the blanket and draped it around his waist. Jeren hopped onto the stallion's back and held her hand out to help him climb up behind. He did so with quiet fluidity. If he was hurt—and Jeren knew that he was—he certainly wasn't showing it, and Jeren had to wonder at his stamina. He'd run on badly burned feet without flinching and now he held on and rode behind her at a fast gallop without any sign of pain or injury. She supposed there'd be time later for him to drop into a faint, she was only glad that as of now, he was conscious and moving on his own.

They rode at the horse's top speed for over an hour, when Elrohir poked Jeren in the side to get her to slow the pace. As soon as the horse was walking, Elrohir said, "I don't know whether to kiss you for being the bravest warrior I've ever seen, or smack you soundly for being stupid enough to come alone."

"You're welcome, Elrohir," Jeren replied with a small grin.

"I certainly wish I could have snatched up my clothes before we ran out of that campsite, but I truly know not what became of them."

"I would offer you my spares, but I'm afraid they might be just the slightest bit too small." He poked her again in the ribs at this weak jest and she flinched, happy to be lighthearted at last.

"So, how fares Elladan?" he asked almost too casually. Jeren knew the twins could mind speak, so she also knew that if something were wrong with Elladan, Elrohir would know it. _So why was he asking her this?_

"I ask because I'm having some trouble sensing him this morning. I know he lived last night—," he said.

Jeren frowned. _He could not read her mind, now could he?_ But she let the thought go.

"Elladan had his eyes blackened and his nose broken, as well as a poke in the shoulder with an Orc blade. He was sleeping when I left." Jeren smiled. What she did not tell Elrohir was that when she'd dosed Elladan with the healing tea he'd instructed her to make for him and Anardil, she'd steeped valerian with it. She'd had enough bruises and strains throughout her training that Lord Elrond allowed her to keep some in her saddlebags for the survival drills, for the pain. She didn't much like using it because it always made her drowsy. She'd used up her supply last night, trying to keep all the men—especially Elladan—asleep through her departure. And it had worked.

"But how are we riding this beast?" Elrohir wanted to know. "No one but Elladan rides this stallion. Not even me, usually."

"I suppose the horse is smarter than either of the two of you," she said. "He knows the need, so he isn't making a fuss. Next time you may not be this lucky."

"There had better be no next time," was Elrohir's quick reply. "Let's stop now. I need a little rest. I had a hard night, you know."

Since Elrohir was his usual glib self, Jeren breathed a huge sigh of relief. The Orcs, for whatever reason, may have beat on Elrohir, burned him and blackened his eyes, but they'd not done anything from which he could not recover. She thanked the Valar one more time.

He slid from the horse to the ground, then hitched up the blanket around his waist and sat under the nearest tree. "Have you anything to eat, Jeren?" he asked. "I'm a little hungry. And some water would not be amiss, either."

Jeren couldn't believe he was acting so casually. Here he sat, seemingly at his ease, covered in filth and blood and bruises, as if he'd not been through one of the most loathsome and terrifying experiences of his life. She took the saddlebag with her to the tree, along with her waterskin, and sat beside Elrohir. She offered him some smoked, dried meat and the water. After he took a long drink, he began to tear at the meat with relish. She took a portion for herself and began to eat.

"Elrohir, you act as if you've not just spent the last ten hours with Orcs. What is the matter with you?"

"How should I be acting? Am I supposed to cower and tremble? I did not relish the party they had in my honor last night, but it is over and done."

She raised her brows. It certainly would have terrified her, but then she was no Elf. "Speaking of a party, where did the other half of the Orc party get to? I know there were twelve Orcs that left after the battle."

"Oh yes, the battle," Elrohir said thoughtfully. "How did that turn out, Jeren, as if I do not know?" His tone softened. "What became of Anardil? Was everyone killed, but Elladan? He's the only one I can ever sense, so…"

"My father, as well as another ranger—Rhyse is his name—survived the battle. Not quite unscathed, but with some time, both should be fine. No one else was left alive. Now you answer _my_ question."

He looked at her quizzically for a moment. "Ah, yes, the Orcs and why they split up." He took another bite of meat and chewed for a few moments. "I know a little of the black speech, and from what I could gather, I was somewhat of a bartering chip for them. They wanted something from a high-ranking Orc in another band, and they thought to trade me for whatever it was. They wanted to keep me well away from this Orc they thought to bargain with, so they left part of the group behind to guard me while the others went to do the trade. That's why I'm not as bad off as you might have thought I'd be—they wanted me very much alive and mostly well, to fetch a higher bargaining price."

"All I can say to that," Jeren told him, "is 'thank the Valar'! I knew not what I was going to do if I had to consider getting around all twelve Orcs to get to you. The smart thing would have been to return to the stronghold—get others to help me free you. But once I was confronted with the sight of you in the clutches of the Orcs, I do not believe I could have left you, even were they all there to contend with. Anyway, the five were trial enough."

Elrohir breathed a big sigh and said, his voice suddenly tired, "Yes. The five were plenty trial enough."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**


	4. The Kiss

_Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all its characters, races, and creatures, as well as our beloved Middle Earth, belongs to JRR Tolkien._

"It's time to leave," Elrohir said as he got up a few minutes later. He looked down at himself with disgust, swiping at some grime on his arm. "There's a stream nearby and I need to bathe." He leapt onto the stallion's back and took the reins. The horse flattened his ears and he rolled his eyes with displeasure. Elrohir soothed him with a pat and some quiet Elvish words.

"I don't hear a stream, Elrohir, and I did not cross any water on my way to find you," Jeren said, skeptical.

"For one thing, _youngling_," he told her, "I've ridden this land for more centuries than you can count—I know it well. And whether you hear it or not, I can. So get your sassy backside up here, or I will leave you behind."

Jeren scowled at him, but took his proffered hand and jumped onto the horse's back.

Such gratitude! She risked life and limb to save his miserable hide and this was the thanks she got?

Elrohir guided the horse toward the east. They rode for a quarter of an hour and did indeed come upon a small creek. Not much as a water source, but it would do well enough for Elrohir to clean himself up. He hopped off Elladan's horse as soon as they'd stopped, dropped the blanket he'd mostly been using to pad his seat, and waded into the ankle deep water. Not satisfied with that, he laid down in it and looked to be greatly relieved by the icy cold of it.

Jeren fished in her saddlebag until she found the chunk of soap that she carried. She'd never gotten used to Elves and their penchant for shucking their clothes whenever—or for whatever reason—they wanted to. Even though, in this case, Elrohir couldn't help being naked, it made her uncomfortable, so she wandered toward the shade of a couple of trees, tossing the soap to him as she passed. Sitting down, she checked the dagger she always wore in her boot. _Yes, still there._ She felt safe enough, especially from Orcs. They would not show themselves under the midday sun unless extremely provoked. She glanced around the tree to check on Elrohir again, and found him sitting up in the creek soaping one of his feet.

Jeren sighed. She'd slept but little the night before and had taken off on Elladan's horse well before sunrise. She closed her eyes for just a moment.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"Keep silent—do not make a sound," came a quiet, steely voice. A hand covered Jeren's mouth. Startled out of sleep, she was terrified, but that eased quickly as she realized just who had captured her.

Angered at Elladan for having scared her so badly, she elbowed him in the ribs, only belatedly thinking better of it. After the battle of yesterday evening he had to be sore, and he was certain to be very angry with her for leaving him behind this morning. She decided not to put up a fuss; perhaps it would calm him down.

But before she could say or do another thing, he seized her by the upper arm and yanked her to her feet, turning her around to face him. She was startled by his appearance. Not surprisingly, his face was a mass of bruises; his nose swelled slightly, both eyes blackened. But his cheeks, which were usually pale, were flushed. He looked ill. _And very, very angry._

Still holding her arm—painfully so—he dragged her farther into the thicker trees. When they'd gone several feet from where they started, he let her go and turned to glare at her.

"You steal my horse, you go to face Orcs alone—you risk my brother's life being the only one in the rescue party! And I find you asleep and not on watch. What have you to say for yourself?"

"I did what I thought necessary," Jeren replied between clenched teeth. "And Elves with their silent footsteps—had you been an Orc or a Warg, you had better know you'd be dead by now." Jeren added somewhat more calmly, "You were—and still look to be—too unwell to even be on your feet, much less in a rescue party."

"Forget about me!" he snarled. "Rhyse was there. Why did you not take him, you witless fool?"

Stung, Jeren was speechless for a moment. He'd never spoken to her in this way before. Of course, he'd never been this angry with her before, either. But it didn't take long for her to regain her voice and she was just as angry as he.

She was angry, yes, but also hurt, so her words were quiet, yet tinged with venom. "Well, as you can see in yonder creek, I was successful in my endeavor—_by myself_—which is evidently how you would keep me, given what you witnessed at the stronghold last time we met—when you said nothing in my defense." She took another step toward him, closing what little space there was between them. "You and everyone else were right. I need no one!"

Elladan found the braid she wore down her back, wound it around his hand and pulled her to his chest. Her face was tipped up to his; his face was fierce, his jaws clenched, his brows drawn together. She shook her head, trying to lose his offensive hold, and she pushed at his chest. And then he did the completely unexpected—he kissed her. Hard.

Jeren had many times wished for this to happen, for Elladan to take her into his arms and love her, as she loved him. He'd never given her a moment of hope—well, almost never. Just once, on one beautiful night…

But this was not love. This was anger and a show of power—his strength over hers.

Just as she started to struggle, he relinquished his hold on her hair, his hand sliding down her back to rest at her waist. Jeren was confused, but did not want to end this moment with him. She relaxed and kissed him in return. All too quickly Elladan ended it for them. He gently pushed her back a step from him.

He looked at her, seeming to search in her eyes for an answer to some question only he knew. After a few moments, Jeren breathlessly asked, "What does this mean, Elladan?" She explored his eyes again, hoping against hope to see love for her in them, but to her dismay they were now completely unreadable.

"This means nothing, Jeren," he told her flatly. "Nothing at all. Nothing has changed." He turned away and took a step, but stopped and turned back toward her. "It means that you had better never again risk your life so foolishly, and if you ever think to do so, I will kill you myself before Orcs get the chance. Put you out of _my_ misery once and for all."

She watched him leave, as bewildered as she'd ever been in her life. What was he saying? Why would he say such a thing? _He cared!_ If he didn't, he wouldn't bother being angry with her. _Was that it?_

Maybe he was beyond rational thought. The flush on his face, as well as his heat when he'd been so near, was not just anger or lust or passion. He was fevered.

She followed him back to where Elrohir was now going through a saddlebag attempting to find something to wear. "Have you no spare boots, Brother? Any stockings?" He'd already found some extra leggings and was decent again. But his poor, tortured feet were still bare.

"I suppose they are back at the camp with Anardil and Rhyse. I guess Jeren thought extra footwear unnecessary—something she didn't bother to bring," Elladan told him.

Jeren found her saddlebag and went through it quietly. She tossed Elrohir a knotted bundle—a pair of her stockings would just have to do.

Elrohir took a good look at his twin as he covered his foot. "You look worse than I feel, Brother. What is it?"

"Orc blade," was Elladan's reply.

"I will see to you soon," Elrohir told him.

"Let me—" Jeren said as she started toward Elladan.

Elladan interrupted her with an outstretched hand. "—Elrohir will take care of it." He sat beneath the tree that Jeren had sat under earlier. He closed his eyes as he waited for his brother to tend to him.

Still confused by Elladan, Jeren sat a short distance from him. She pondered the events that so muddled her mind.

She knew why he was angry. He'd told her their friendship depended on her taking him with her when she left to rescue his brother. Jeren wondered if the kiss had possibly meant that he'd changed his mind. She felt that all that bluster about killing her himself was just that—bluster. But if he cared for her not at all—not even as a friend—he wouldn't bother warning her of his intent about anything, would he? _She could go round in circles like this forever._

Elrohir finally knelt on one knee next to Elladan, touching him on the arm. Elladan opened his fevered eyes and began untying his tunic, drawing it from his shoulders—with a grimace of pain—to rest around his hips on the ground. Elrohir had a dagger he'd found from somewhere and cut the binding on the bandage that Jeren had placed there last night. He drew the padding away from the wound and scowled—it was an ugly red and putrid besides, the stitches strained with swelling.

"Looks painful," he said, stating the obvious, while he probed at the injury.

"It is," Elladan replied.

"Elladan," Elrohir said, "were you unconscious? I find it hard to believe that you would let someone stitch this. We both know that's not what it needed."

Elladan looked meaningfully in Jeren's direction, seeming to say without words, "See? I told you, you simple, Human girl." But he said out loud, "_You _try talking sense to her when she's got her mind made up." Elrohir didn't say anything else while he examined the wound.

Jeren thought that her cheeks must be flaming. She'd all but strong-armed a wounded, sick Elf into being sewed on, over his considerable protesting. She'd not even listened to him. She'd done it out of a need for revenge, if she were honest with herself. Some type of repayment she felt owed, from another time. _Mayhap I am as hardheaded as they claim_.

"It must be drained," was Elrohir's quiet comment after a moment. "Jeren, build a fire, why don't you?"

Jeren knew that Elrohir was exhausted and injured himself, but one would not know it by looking at him. She set about helping him and built the fire in short order. He took the bowl, as well as the herbs that she used the night before, from the saddlebags and set them out. He also found a small pouch, perhaps a little larger than his hand. He untied the string closing the pouch and drew out a few metal instruments that Jeren had seen Lord Elrond use on her before—a small pair of scissors, for one thing. He placed the instruments in the bowl, filled it with water and set it in the fire. He took a large pinch of one of the herbs from a vial and sprinkled it in the water, stirring it slightly with his finger. He found a clean cloth that Jeren had laid out for him, dipped it in the herbal water and began cleaning around the wound.

"Are you hurt elsewhere?" Elrohir asked with a smile. "I mean besides your nose." The grin on Elrohir's face showed that he felt that justice had finally been served, since his twin's perfect nose was no longer so perfect.

Elladan did not seem to rise to Elrohir's bait. "No," was the one word reply.

"Well, when we are finished here, there are a few places on my back that need tending. Curse Orcs and their nasty habit of biting!"

Elladan smiled. "There's quite a bit of you left. Must've been your bad taste that kept them from making a proper meal of you." Elrohir laughed at that.

Unease wove itself into Elrohir's mind. Elladan somehow did not seem like himself. Elrohir still could not sense his brother fully in his mind—and he sat right here in front of him. He needed to think about this…

Jeren busied herself worrying now. She'd also stitched her father's wound. She went cold thinking that he might be suffering ill effects from her tending, as Elladan had.

She wanted to get on one of the horses and get back to the camp to see to him. He was Human, not Elfkind, and Valar only knew how bad off he might be by today. By her estimation, they were only a few hours from the camp she'd set up last night.

"I need to head back," Jeren announced.

"Have you not caused enough trouble for one day?" Elladan asked her wearily, his eyes closed again. Then he opened them to stare at her. "I did not appreciate whatever you put in the tea last night—it surely wasn't what I told you to put in it to ward away infection! I'm barely awake now as it is. You just stay where you are while we do what we must and then we will go. Not before."

Again alarm sounded quietly in Elrohir's head. He suspected valerian was what Jeren had drugged them with. But even the effects of valerian didn't usually impair Elladan this much. And he thought about Elladan's last remark. Yes, valerian usually made him cranky, but it also caused him to be quieter—not nearly this talkative. You were unlikely to get any response from him at all—but if you did, it wasn't pleasant. And Elladan was a mixture of all these things today—jesting, petulant, and downright mean.

Jeren wanted to scream. _Had she caused enough trouble for one day? Indeed! _Did anyone—_anyone—_think to thank her for her successful rescue of Elrohir? Yes, she came without leave of her father and without Elladan accompanying her, but she accomplished the deed! No one was dead, maimed or even injured as a result of her _successful_ rescue of Elrohir.

She bit back the retort that was on her lips, and said instead, "But my father—I stitched him, too. Perhaps he needs attention, like you do."

Elladan opened his eyes again, cocked his head to one side, and stared at her for a few seconds, looking at her as if she was some small, errant child. "Then it would be better he got it from someone who actually knows what he is doing. Stay where you are. We will be leaving in short order."

Jeren knew without doubt that Elladan was decidedly still angry about being left behind—kiss or no kiss. And his commanding her to stay—when he had no authority to do so—rankled her. She considered going anyway. She was sure to face Anardil's wrath when she saw him again, for disobeying his order to not come after Elrohir. Elladan was certainly still angry with her for the same reason. So what difference did it make if she went without the twins' approval now? They, along with her father, were already irate with her. They might as well stay that way. After all, what more could they do to make her any more miserable?

_Would that she had thought that through just a little longer…_

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Jeren watched as Elrohir used the scissors to cut the stitches she'd placed so neatly into Elladan's shoulder just last night. The infection was terrible.

Elrohir cleaned out the wound, and Elladan kept up an almost constant complaining about how rough his brother was being. Elrohir's concern was growing with each grumble from his twin. This was so unlike Elladan. All these little things were adding up in Elrohir's mind. _But adding up to what?_

Elladan was poulticed, bandaged, and dosed with a healing herb in short order. They then switched places, Elrohir lying on the grass beneath the tree while Elladan saw to the Orc bites on his brother's shoulders, backside and legs. Jeren rose and inched her way toward where the horses quietly grazed. She knew the twins would think she was just uneasy with Elrohir's nakedness again, and was only keeping him out of her line of vision. Without taking any of her gear—they weren't that far from the camp, she reasoned, she'd be there before nightfall—she jumped onto Elladan's horse again.

The prancing brute gave a snort and nodded his head as Jeren urged him to move. The twins glanced up at the noise. Elladan stood and started toward her, so she urged the stallion harder, grinding her heels into his flanks. The horse gave a start and a token buck, and then galloped away, Jeren firmly in place.

"Curse that girl! Elladan muttered between clenched teeth. "When I catch up to her, she will wish she had never been born!"

"Easy, Brother," Elrohir said with a sly smile, as he propped himself up on one elbow. "I have a plan to teach young Jeren a thing or two about doing what she is told. Have no fear. She may not exactly rue the day she was born, but before all is said and done, she will think twice about crossing us again anytime soon."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

It was late afternoon, the sun nearing the western horizon, when Jeren approached the camp where she'd left her father and Rhyse. She whistled the birdcall that she and Anardil had used all her life as a signal that either one was near the other. She listened for the answer. _Yes, there it is. _

About half a league past, she'd come upon a smoldering pile that could only be the dead Orcs from yesterday's battle. That's all that was left of the skirmish—that and the cairns that Rhyse and perhaps Anardil had erected over the graves of the fallen rangers. Two large graves had been dug to accommodate the eight dead men. The cairns were only the depth of one layer of rocks. The rangers would probably add more height to them at a later time.

She steeled herself for the tongue-thrashing she knew she was in for; that is, if Anardil wasn't terribly sick from the taint of the Orc blade that had pierced his side. She slid off Elladan's horse, wishing she had a brush to give him a good rubbing down. She removed the bridle and brushed his forelock with her fingers. She checked his hooves for stones. She knew Elladan would not forgive her if she took less than excellent care of his horse. More to the point, she was stalling—she didn't want to face the inevitable choler her father would most likely spout as soon as he laid eyes on her.

She finally pushed through the brush that concealed the campsite, which the two men had obviously enlarged while she'd been gone. _My but they'd been busy today_. She was quite surprised to find two men she did not know sitting there with them. By their garb and the star broaches they wore on their breasts, she knew they, too, were rangers of the Dunedain. Rhyse and Anardil were honing shafts for arrows. They all looked up at her approach.

"Well if it isn't the rescuer, come back to tell her tales," Anardil said dryly. He appeared dirty and tired, as well as ill. Somewhat like Elladan had earlier today, yet worse. Even from where she was she could see the sweat beading on her father's brow. Jeren thought not to ask him if she could look at his stitched wound. At least, not quite yet.

She didn't answer his taunt; she simply sat down between her father and Rhyse.

"Well met, Jeren," Rhyse said quietly. "Elrohir—?" he asked, tilting his head in question.

"I found Elrohir and freed him. He was battered and bitten, but otherwise hale. He and Elladan should be along soon."

Anardil let out a breath, obviously glad of the news she brought. But he continued his task with the arrows and said nothing more. Rhyse introduced the two men—Joem and Brid—but fell quiet then. The silence was thick and Jeren detested it.

"Have you eaten?" Jeren asked. "Need I go hunt?" She didn't realize she'd left herself open to Anardil's punishment with the one simple question.

"There's no need," Anardil said, not looking at her. "All's been done, no thanks to you." He looked at her then, obviously finding her greatly wanting. "We spent our morning—_when we finally woke up_—seeing to our dead. It's a shame you could not have been here to lend a hand. Luckily our friends here found us and they helped. As it was, the hand I leant to Rhyse was a poor one. This Orc cut molders, and I wasn't much use. We certainly could have used you here."

"Anardil—" Rhyse said, embarrassed to be witness to this father and daughter dispute.

"She has no excuse, Rhyse," Anardil said, not taking his eyes off Jeren. "I told her to stay and she did not." He'd not raised his voice but to Jeren, he may as well have been shouting at her.

Jeren knew her face was three times red, having her father dress her down in front of others, especially others she did not know. It was completely unlike him. But embarrassment did not dampen her anger for long.

"But I rescued Elrohir!" she all but shouted. "Does that not count with anyone?"

"'Twould count, were it your task to accomplish, but it was not," he said in a matter of fact tone. "As Elladan _tried_ to tell you last night, he was hale enough this morning to go after his brother. You needn't have bothered yourself about it. I believe _I_ _also_ tried to tell you that last night. Like talking to a rock, you are!" He plied his dagger to the shaft of the arrow he was honing, using too much force, and he broke it. He swore and tossed it away. "As it was, your task went undone."

"What do you mean, Papa?" she asked, angry now.

"I told you that you would go to the stronghold today, but you did not—you were not here to carry out that plan. They know not what has become of us or of all those men who are laid beneath yonder rocks of the cairns. 'Twas by sheer fortune that Brid here and Joem happened upon us with a message from Aragorn. Mayhap you might see to your task now, daughter, and perhaps deliver our answer to the Chieftain?"

"You want me to leave right now?" she asked, incredulous. "It will be dark soon. I've had a hard day and a trying one—I could use some rest."

"Pity, huh Rhyse?" Anardil said, switching his gaze to look at their companion. "No rest for the wicked. Excuse me, I meant weary."

Jeren stood, unable to abide her father any longer. She bent to retrieve her saddle, so that she could be away from here. Tired or not, riding would be a glad reprieve from this tripe her father was dishing up to her at the present. Right now, she'd rather face Orcs.

As an afterthought, Jeren threw over her shoulder, "In case you wondered, were it not for me and my arrows, the whole lot of you would probably be dead right now. One of your own _men_ let loose with an arrow before ordered, that started that whole disastrous battle of yesterday. I emptied my quiver—that's over a dozen Orcs that died because _I_ shot them." She did not see the surprise on her father's face, which turned to humbled pride—if only she had been aware of it.

A piercing whistle rent the air at just that moment. It was the twins, finally, announcing their arrival.

_Oh joy, more people who are angry with me,_ Jeren thought.

Jeren went and stood before her father, her hand outstretched. He looked at it, then up at her. "Your answer, for the Chieftain," was her comment. Joem reached into his tunic pocket and drew out a paper. He glanced at Anardil, and finding no answer from the man, he handed it to Jeren. She turned on her heel and walked away.

Elladan strode into the campsite ahead of Elrohir. Elladan had ridden out this morning on Elrohir's horse, without a saddle, anticipating having to ride double. Now Elrohir came into the clearing carrying the bridle and saddlebags, which he put in a pile. He then sat with the others. Elladan sat beside his brother, resting his elbows on his knees. Jeren thought he might look just the slightest bit better than he had when she'd first laid eyes on him earlier. Elrohir, on the other hand, looked worse. His night up 'partying' with the Orcs had taken its toll on him. No matter, she was up and would be away momentarily.

"Where are you going now?" Elrohir asked, obviously annoyed. "We just get here and we don't even get to give you a proper talking to for stealing our horse again, and you're off, just like that?"

"Just like that," Jeren replied. "But I do promise to take my own mount this time."

"A horse theivin' know-it-all, who cannot even stand up to take the criticism she invites on herself." Anardil spat in the dirt to punctuate his distaste of the whole affair.

Jeren refused to let them all see how hurt she was by her father's words. _And this was after he knew of her help with their battle_. She was not any of those things, but these brutes were so busy trying to make her conform to their ways that they could not see that her way was, if not better, then at least as good.

_She could not see that one of her obstacles in her quest for being a ranger—her one true wish in her life—was her nonconformance_.

She continued to gather her things. She put the saddle and bridle on Two, who'd come up to greet Jeren a few minutes after Jeren had arrived. In very short order, she was ready. She climbed into the saddle, sitting straight and tall. Her face may have told them that they might have daunted her spirit just a little, but she would never show them just how devastated she was.

She would never show them. They would never think her weak. No one would think that ever again. Just as she had continued to fight the Orcs who had beaten and raped her in the dirt of the yard, she would continue to fight this battle, too—the battle she fought to be accepted by the rangers. She had decided this long ago, during her lengthy convalescence in Rivendell. And she had not changed her mind.

She would go to the stronghold, deliver her father's answer to Lord Aragorn, and tell them of the fate of the rangers who'd lost their lives in the embarrassment of a battle yesterday evening. Mayhap she'd rest there a day, mayhap not. She'd then go back to Rivendell—to Elrond, who would comfort her, even though he'd thought her wrong in her quest. There she would rest for a time, and then try and decide how she could accomplish her goals.

She put her heels gently into Two's flanks and the mare started at a slow walk. Jeren did not look back, nor did anyone bid her farewell.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**


	5. The Poison

_Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all its characters, races, and creatures, as well as our beloved Middle Earth, belongs to JRR Tolkien._

"Shall we draw straws to see who the unlucky fool is who goes after that hard-headed daughter of yours, Anardil?" Elrohir asked, breaking the profound silence. "'Twill be nightfall before long."

"Where has she gone? What foolhardy thing does she hope to accomplish now, when the sun is near setting?"

Elrohir and Elladan glanced at each other, then Rhyse said, his tone uneasy, "You just sent her away, Anardil; to the stronghold, to deliver your answer to Aragorn. Do you not remember?"

Anardil's expression turned inward, as if exploring his memory. "_I_ did this? Just now, you say? What tricks would you be pullin' on me, Rhyse? This is too serious a thing to be jestin' about." Then, as if some light went on in his mind, Anardil mumbled, "Oh yes— Mayhap I did do this. I considered sendin' her to the stronghold, to teach her a lesson, yet I do not remember actually lendin' voice to the words." He looked stricken and confused. "What can be wrong with me?" he asked in a near whisper.

There was an awkward silence. No one knew what to say.

"In that case," Anardil continued, his voice stronger, "I hope that you do go seek her, for her sake, but do not rely on me to be in the search party. Even could I sit a saddle with this Orc cut, it seems I have no sense with which to go looking for her. I do not even remember her parting." He heaved a huge sigh and set the arrow he'd been working on to the side.

"She knows not the pain she afflicts on me when she goes off on her own, though in this case, it appears it's my fault, not hers. She could be killed—or worse—like what happened before—and she seems to not even give it a thought."

"Or worse, Anardil?" Elladan asked, in apparent amazement. "What is worse than death? That's final. Nothing is worse. She triumphed over what the Orcs did to her. She lived. And she thrives. Seven years have passed and no one would ever know she'd been beset by Orcs. No wonder she despairs of you."

Elrohir tried to make some sense out of what Anardil was saying, but when Elladan said his piece, he truly knew something was wrong with both of them. _Elladan was now arguing with Anardil!_ And over things better left unsaid, in front of others who knew nothing of Jeren's attack by Orcs. Yes, there was something very wrong here.

"I do all the worryin' over her for the both of us. It's makin' me old—and it makes me say things to her I do not mean," Anardil confessed, his fevered eyes etched with worry for his only daughter. "Of course there's nothin' worse than dyin', Elladan. When she was overrun by the brutes at our cabin, not only was I not there to help her, but afterward, when I was with her, there was nothin' I could do for her, save hold her hand. And I didn't do such a good job of that, neither." Anardil wiped the sweat from his brow. "Valar, it must be this fever that's talkin'. I make no sense, not even to myself."

Elladan stood and retrieved the saddlebag that contained the medicaments and instruments he'd need to see to Anardil's wound. He then sat in front of Anardil and motioned for him to open his tunic. Anardil complied.

Heat radiated off the man. Anardil's fever was great. Elladan cut off the bandage that Jeren had placed there the night before. The cloth was soaked with bloody ooze. On unspoken cue Elrohir built a fire, placing water on to boil for the instruments he fetched. Rhyse sat by, to help if they needed him. Joem and Brid set out to hunt. They had no stomach for injuries, especially ones that looked to be as bad as Anardil's.

Elladan took the pad of the bandage away from the wound and saw that this was indeed a horrific infection. The stitches were strained and the cut was already running with gore. "Lay back Anardil. I need better access to this. Elrohir, help me, please."

The twins set about working over Anardil, cutting the stitches, cleaning the wound. They had to sear it with the white-hot blades of their knives, to kill the decay in the flesh that had started. Rhyse was put to good use holding Anardil still. The pain had been great and it was a wonder indeed that the man remained conscious through it all. Would that he had not. They soon had him bandaged again and dosed with a healing herbal tea.

When the twins were finished, Elladan said, "We've done our best with this Anardil, but I fear for you. You need to see my father. I think we've not gotten to this in time."

Elrohir shot another look at his brother, noting again the lack of restraint in Elladan's words. Both he and Anardil acted as if they could not help but say what they were thinking. Elrohir was beginning to have some serious thoughts about whether those Orc blades that pierced Anardil and Elladan might have been poisoned after all.

And now Elrohir was torn. He was very concerned for his brother, who was obviously talking straight out of his head, with no thought about what he said or who might be listening. But the evening was not getting younger, and Jeren was out there alone.

He retrieved his saddle and other gear, and spread out his bedroll, where he kept an extra set of clothes. He found another tunic, which he quickly shrugged into, and located his spare pair of boots, which he donned. Then he gathered the saddle and bridle for his horse.

Elrohir said, looking directly at Elladan, "If no one needs anything else of me then I am off. I will not rest knowing Jeren is alone, while we suspect there's at least one angry Orc band out there on the hunt for a missing Elf."

"I will go with you," Rhyse said. "There's one too many rangers here for my liking, even though for now that ranger has gone to hunt. But he will return and I would rather be doing something constructive, than sitting here listening to him preach."

Neither of the twins knew that Rhyse had a particular complaint against Joem, but that he was speaking of him, they had no doubt. Joem, called The Mouth behind his back—or to his front if a ranger was brave enough—was not one of the more well liked of the company. He spoke out of turn more often than not, and seemed to generally grate on the others. But he was a big, brawny man and an excellent swordsman, so at least he earned his keep.

"I appreciate your offer, Rhyse," Elrohir said, "yet I need you to undertake another important task for me. As I just said, I fear the other part of that Orc band that held me captive last night might be tracking me, and that would lead them back to this campsite. I would have you scout to make sure they are nowhere near here. If they do appear, with your eyes watching, you all will not be taken unawares."

Rhyse, with a resigned expression, nodded his agreement.

Elrohir then asked Elladan, "Will you come with me to find Jeren?"

"Do you need my company, Brother?"

"I would wish it, but I do not need it, particularly."

"Then I would stay right where I am. Anardil will most likely need more tending before I can get him to Father."

The set of Elladan's jaw told Elrohir that he'd not move his brother with argument of any sort. Elrohir knew some of Elladan's reluctance to go with him had something to do with Jeren. While Elladan had pulled Jeren further into the trees today to give her a good blessing out, it was not far enough. Elrohir had seen the kiss that they shared. But now was not the time to question his twin.

And while he could have used his brother's company—Elrohir himself wasn't feeling any too hale after his night with the Orcs—Elladan was right about Anardil. He was going to be very sick for some time, and would need more care than any of the men they were with could provide. But Elladan's eerie behavior haunted Elrohir, and he wanted to be near so he could watch over him.

Rhyse was young—he'd only ridden with the rangers for a little over a year. Brid was a fifth year ranger, while Joem had been riding for three. Elrohir weighed the experience of each man against the possibility that the Orcs might track him back here. The three rangers were hale. And Elladan looked profoundly better than he had earlier today, before Elrohir tended his wound. Elladan could fight; Elrohir did not doubt that.

Jeren, however was green as grass. She'd gotten more real experience these past few days than she ever had while riding with Glorfindel and the trainees, regardless of what she thought. Yes, they'd skirmished with Orcs just outside the borders of Rivendell, but the situations were always well controlled. She'd never been in peril while in the company of the Elves. But she was certainly in danger now.

"Then I'm gone. See you soon in Imladris," Elrohir said. He gathered his weapons and saddlebags and tack and left the clearing. But Elladan followed his brother.

While Elrohir saddled his horse, Elladan told him, "These cuts we have—the infection set in too swiftly. I fear it is a poison—some new brew of the Orcs. If you reach Father before I do, tell him about it in detail, that he might contemplate what to do about it. I will bring Anardil home as swiftly as I might, but I know not how able he'll be to sit a horse. It could be very slow going."

At Elrohir's worried glance, Elladan quickly added, "Worry not about me—I feel well on the mend. But Anardil; to have the flesh in the cut already be black—it cannot be simple infection."

Elrohir calmed when he suddenly felt the mind connection he had with Elladan grow stronger. He could now feel the well being of his brother's _fëa_, and that was a great relief to him.

He decided against telling Elladan of his suspicions—that this poison also had other unwanted effects. There would be time to discuss that later. It was more than possible that Elladan's inclination toward speaking freely was only a temporary thing—until the last of the poison was out of his system. Elrohir now felt much more at ease about leaving Elladan behind.

"Think you I should look at your wound before I go?" Elrohir asked him.

"I believe all is well with it, Brother."

For most of the day Elladan had been saying exactly what he was thinking, so Elrohir had no cause to doubt him now. He clasped his twin in a strong, short hug, mounted his horse and rode away at a swift trot.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Elrohir soon caught up to Jeren. The mare's slow plodding walk had not changed.

Jeren blew out an exasperated breath when she saw she'd been followed by an Elf.

"What are you doing here, Elrohir?" she asked, obviously irritated.

"I am going with you."

"How clever of you, to be sure," she told him, "but I neither want nor need your accompaniment. You should be resting, back with the others."

"So should you."

"My father ordered me to the stronghold."

"Since when do you do as you are ordered, Jeren?"

She stopped Two and looked fiercely at him. "I do not need your escort, Elrohir. Neither do I want or wish to have it. I want to be left alone. Is that blunt enough for you?"

"Certainly it is," he replied. "I just am not going to comply with your wishes or wants."

"Suit yourself," she said tiredly. She kicked Two into a slow walk once again.

"Where exactly are we going?" Elrohir wanted to know after a few minutes.

"We are going toward the stronghold, for as long as I feel like riding this evening."

He paused a few minutes, and then said, "If you are tired of riding already, I know of a very good place to rest for the night. It isn't far." He urged his horse into a canter, veering off to the left. Jeren did not follow him; she allowed Two to keep her same slow, measured pace of before, in exactly the same direction in which Jeren had started out.

Elrohir, as a rule, was a patient Elf. But he had wrestled with Orcs for most of the night, had been in a battle before that, hadn't had a decent meal in awhile, and was achy and sore from mistreatment. His store of patience was empty. He turned his horse around and went back to Jeren, where he grabbed her reins from her hands before she even knew what he was about. She began cursing at him, at which time he shushed her, telling her that one never knew what lurked about in the twilight of the evening. Jeren cared not—she cursed him some more.

He led them to a small cave, more an indentation in the rocky soil of a slight hill. It was well covered with brush and trees, as the campsite had been that Jeren had led the others to last night. _Had it only been a day ago?_ _It seemed years since then to her._

They took the tack off their horses and set them free. Two would be safe untethered, as long as Elrohir's Elven-bred horse was there to keep her from straying too far. They settled themselves into the little enclosure, bringing all their belongings with them. Elrohir promptly left again and didn't return for close to half an hour. Jeren gave fleeting thought to leaving while Elrohir was gone, detesting the fact that he had commandeered her in the first place. But she was extremely weary, and heart sick besides, and could not muster the will to do so.

Elrohir finally returned, carrying the remains of two large hares. He'd already dressed them out and spitted them. He handed them to Jeren while he built a fire with wood she had gathered while he was gone. In no time, the aroma of roasting meat filled the small enclosure.

"Worry not. There are no Orcs about," Elrohir told her. "Our fire and smoke will go unheeded."

"I wasn't worried," Jeren said tiredly. "If there's one thing I've learned about traveling with Elves, it's that they know when things unsavory tread the ground around them."

"Ah, so you are speaking to me again," he said with a slight smile. "Good. I really hate talking to myself." Then he added as an afterthought, "But I hate being cursed at even more."

"Then it is simple, Elrohir—do not make me mad enough to curse you." Jeren smiled.

"That is not so simple, Jeren. One never knows what might make you angry."

Jeren chuckled quietly. She so loved Elrohir. He could always make her laugh, even when she was miserable.

The hares were cooking and the aroma was mouth-watering. Jeren hadn't eaten much lately either, and she could barely wait to tear into the meat. Before long, but what seemed an eternity, they each had a hare, browned to perfection. They ate with relish, until neither could eat more. Elrohir took the bones outside to bury, well away from their camp. No use in inviting unwanted scavengers to sleep with them.

When he returned, he found Jeren propped against the back wall of their home for the night, her eyes closed, and a blanket around her. She had laid out their bedrolls. All they need do is lay down to sleep. She looked completely uncomfortable, so he retrieved his own blanket and wrapped himself in it, then skirted the dying embers of their fire and sat beside her, drawing her to him with his arm around her shoulders.

They'd sat like this so many times in Rivendell, Jeren thought. She might be unhappy for whatever reason—Glorfindel found her wanting in a drill, the other novices—all Elves—had been jeering at her mistakes. And Elrohir, when he was home, always somehow knew she needed comfort. He'd come into her room in the evenings, hold her just like this, and listen while she poured her heart out to him. She very seldom cried. Not since she'd recuperated fully from the Orc attack those many years ago, had she really cried as girls might do. She knew that the tears of a woman were seen as weakness, and she wanted no part of that.

"What are you thinking about, Young Lady?" he asked her quietly. It was the way he'd always started these evening conversations.

"I was sitting here wondering how you can be so calm after having been taken by Orcs," she replied, even though that had not been what she'd been thinking of at all. She'd been thinking about her father and how he must hate her, since she was in no way the child he wanted, apparently. Nothing she did made him proud of her, and her every move seemed to make him angry.

"The reason I am so calm, as you say, is because I knew I wasn't about to die at the hands of those five Orcs. I knew I had time to think of some plan to free myself, if none of you came for me, even though when you arrived, I still did not know what that plan might be. But while I was being bargained over, I would live—I knew this. And I'd live a short time after the exchange. When there's life and time, there's hope." He paused slightly, then added, "Oh and, thank you for rescuing me, Jeren." He made her smile, he saw, even in this almost total darkness.

"No need for thanks, Elrohir," Jeren said, then smiled again. "I wasn't busy doing anything else."

He snorted. "Now I have a question for you. What prompted you to come to my rescue alone? Was it some sort of test for you? Or perhaps Anardil or Elladan? What is the reason?"

"I was the only one hale enough to come after you, Elrohir. You saw Elladan—you took care of that putrid Orc cut, for Valar's sake. He was in no condition to come after you. I was right to do as I did, and you know it."

"As Elladan asked you today, what about Rhyse? He seemed hale enough to me when I saw him this afternoon, and he could have helped you."

_Elrohir had heard the exchange she'd had with Elladan? What else had he heard—or seen?_

Jeren had no ready answer for his question, so she searched her mind quickly for one that might satisfy him. "Rhyse had been concussed. He could barely hold his head up last night; how was I to know he'd be hale enough to come after you?" Her voice had risen, and her defensive tone held anger just under the surface.

"I wish not to have cross words with you now. But more to the point, I do not believe this is what is truly on your mind. Speak to me, Jeren. What is hurting your heart this evening?"

She paused for so long Elrohir thought she might not answer. But after a few moments more, she said, "That which has been on my mind since I came to the stronghold—how do I become a ranger? No one will give me a chance. I thought that perhaps showing you might do it. I helped with the battle—ill conceived though it was."

Still not what she'd been truly thinking of, but this was not far from the truth. This subject was ever on her mind.

"I saw your shooting when you freed me, Jeren. It was first-rate. And to think the bow is not your weapon of choice."

"What good does any of it do me, Elrohir, if the ones that matter are not moved by it?"

He sat away from her slightly and frowned. "Since when am I numbered among those that 'do not matter' Young Lady?"

"Oh Elrohir, you know I am speaking of my father and Lord Aragorn. Of course you matter, but not so much in affairs of the Dúnedain."

"That is a little better, I suppose," Elrohir conceded with a sarcastic look, settling back down beside her.

Jeren laid her head on his shoulder, weary beyond words. "Why must I always want what I cannot have, Elrohir? Why can I not just be content with my lot in life—whatever that is?" She was silent for a few minutes, and then she added, "Do you remember when we first met, you told me the story of your mother?"

"Yes, I remember that," he told her. "You'd given up, it seemed to me."

"That's exactly right. I had given up. I simply did not care about anything anymore." Jeren paused again. "You told me that when all was said and done, my life was all I truly possessed, and I should fight for it with all I had."

"You have a good memory. I'm not sure if I should praise it or curse it. Why do I feel that this story is about to come back at me?"

Jeren chuckled quietly. "Probably because it is." She sat up and turned her face toward him. Again, as ever when in company of Elves, she was amazed at them. Even though they were in almost total darkness, she could see him ever so faintly. He seemed to glow, as all Elves did in the dark. "It was that day that I decided to fight for what I want, and all I've wanted since then was to become a ranger, with my Father; to train and become so proficient that I could join him and my people in the fight against the dark that seems to plague our land more every day. I vowed to myself—ever since you told me your mother's story—to fight for that, Elrohir."

His hand found her braid, and he fingered it, bringing the end of it up to gaze at it in the darkness. After a lengthy pause in the conversation, Elrohir finally said, "Do not get your hopes up, Jeren, but I will speak with Aragorn."

Her melancholy seemed to all but vanish. She sat straight up and threw her arms around him. "Thank you, Elrohir! I will never forget this. You will not regret it, I promise."

They settled down on their bedrolls then, still side by side. Jeren was asleep in moments, but Elrohir lay there thinking for a little while.

He felt like a worm, if he were honest with himself. He didn't know whether to thank the Valar for giving him the opening he needed with Jeren to teach her a lesson, or to curse himself as a villain. He'd planned on speaking to Aragorn about Jeren since she'd taken off on Elladan's horse this afternoon to ride back to Anardil and Rhyse. This was the plan he'd spoken of to Elladan. It was about time that Aragorn took charge of one of his wayward kinsmen—kinswomen, he should say.

Elrohir knew in his heart that Jeren would never see her dreams fulfilled, but, if all went as planned, at least she would get a taste of what she was wishing for, and perhaps learn a lesson she badly needed to learn.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

When Jeren opened her eyes early the next morning, she was alone in the small cavern. Judging from the darkness still surrounding her, the sun was not yet up. She wasn't concerned, though, because in the vague semi-darkness she could distinguish Elrohir's saddle, still where he'd left it the evening before. She'd been alone at times and she would be again. If Elrohir had decided to leave her where she was, she did not care. After what he'd told her last night, he could do no wrong in her eyes today—_at least, so far_.

She sat up and ran a hand over her hair. It certainly needed a good scrubbing, she thought. When she made it back to Imladris she would bathe for hours if she so desired.

Her reverie was interrupted when Elrohir ran into the cave. He gathered his bow and his sword and looked at Jeren with quiet intensity for a moment, as if sizing her up for some reason. "The other half of the Orc band has found us, Jeren. They are headed this way—less than five minutes from here."

Jeren sprang into action, strapping on her long knife and raising her bow over her shoulder. She'd gone to sleep fully clothed last night—including her boots—as was her habit when out in the wild. Within seconds she was ready.

"What is the plan, Elrohir?"

"The first thing is to get out of this trap," he told her honestly, looking around the cave. "There's no time to run. We'll gather the horses and lie in wait for them. I want you in the trees again. Your bow is lethal, especially if they do not see you."

"How will I see to aim in the dark, Elrohir? I am no Elf!"

"It is much lighter outside of this enclosure than it is in here. The Orcs are bound to be looking for a place to rest for the day, but we will not let them find it, will we?"

"What about you, Elrohir? I'll not leave you to face them alone on the ground."

"You will cover me. With any luck, you will have them dispatched before I even unsheathe my sword."

There were only seven of them, Jeren thought. She could easily pick them off before they got to Elrohir—as long as she could see them. They chose their spot to make their stand and Jeren shimmied up a tree, keeping well hidden. What she did not know was what Elrohir had not told her—the seven were now fifteen. The Orcs hoping to bargain for an Elf had joined with what was left of the original band.

Elrohir chose to fight on horseback this time. His feet, while having healed quite a bit from their burns, were still tender, and it would be to his advantage when fighting not to depend on them too heavily. Moreover, his horse despised Orcs and would probably kill his share of the brutes.

The Orcs spied their treasure immediately, and immediately grabbed up their bows.

Jeren's heart went into her throat when she counted their numbers. _And Elrohir had purposely put her in a tree to protect her. Curse his hide!_ Jeren did not think the Orcs would actually shoot him, since he was the prize they were after, but she held her bow with arrow notched, trained on the obvious leader of the Orcs. As soon as he was close enough, she would shoot and kill him.

And when she had a shot she could not miss, she did. Instantly she notched another arrow and had it away. Two down, thirteen left. Arrows sang in the air around her, but she continued her onslaught of them.

They'd swamped Elrohir by now, who was hacking at them with his sword. But his horse would not stand still through the fight, and while he was a brave animal, he did exactly as Elrohir predicted—he would not tolerate them being so near. But instead of running, like a reasonable horse might do, he reared, his front hooves lashing out at those in their path. He took out three, before Elrohir scooted off the horse's back, facing the throng of Orcs. Jeren let arrows loose until she had no more clear shots.

There were only five Orcs left now, all armed with their short, curved swords. She climbed down from the tree, unsheathing her long knife. She'd rarely been so scared while fighting Orcs—but on the other hand, she'd never been so angry—they would _not_ take Elrohir again.

She hacked her way into the throng, and Elrohir, in the center of it all, was slicing at Orcs, and she thought he'd never been more beautiful! Between the two of them—and Elrohir's horse had not let up; he was stomping on those he could get to—they had soon dispatched the last of the Orcs. They both stood, breathing heavily for a few minutes, to regain the strength to move.

"Well done, Young Lady," Elrohir said, when he could breathe somewhat normally again.

Jeren gave him a hard shove. "How dare you try to protect me by putting me up a tree!"

He shoved her back. "I was protecting myself! I put you there because that was where you would be most effective. If you ever have any hope of becoming a ranger, you had better learn to take orders without questioning them!" He walked away from her a short distance, then returned. "How did you ever get along with Glorfindel? I know for a fact that he brooks no arguments from trainees."

Jeren bent her head, looking down. Her shoulders began to shake. Elrohir thought he'd made her weep, but on closer look, she was laughing! He wanted to shake her till her teeth rattled. Instead he went to his horse, soothing the beast, as his horse wasn't quite ready to quit the fight. He'd trampled several dead Orcs until it was hard to discern how many of them there'd been in his path originally.

When Jeren had control of her laughter, she glanced up to see Elrohir looking at her with concern. He crossed back to her, taking her arm into his hand. She looked at herself—her upper arm on the left. She hadn't realized she'd been cut until he'd pointed it out to her. No matter, they'd clean it up and celebrate their victory then. Only for a short while—she still had her errand to the stronghold to run.

But Elrohir had gone quiet on her. She questioned him with her eyes.

"Elladan and I fear these Orcs have devised a new poison. You left yesterday afternoon before we checked Anardil's wound. It was more than infected, it was necrotic."

"What are you talking about, Elrohir?" she asked him, very concerned.

"The flesh inside the wound was dying—and as Elladan reminded me, the time from the infliction of the wound to when we saw to it was not great enough for it to even be much infected. Elladan's wound was the same—badly infected long before it should have been."

"What are you saying, Elrohir? Are my father and Elladan dying?"

"I hope not, Jeren. Since Elladan is Elfkind, and when I tended him he had what looked to be only a bad infection, I believe that he will be fine. But Anardil—when the flesh turns black in a wound, it is a very hard thing to cure. I will not lie to you, Jeren—your father is very sick. Elladan was taking him to Imladris as soon as he could manage it. Right now, it's you that I'm worried about."

"Well, what's to be done, and let's do it!" she said.

He led her back into the small enclosure where he immediately started a fire. His saddlebags were still there, so he found what he needed and set it all out. Jeren wondered at his choice of instruments—he'd gotten out a knife. _What would he need that for?_

She sat on her bedroll, which she'd gotten out of so quickly less than an hour ago. She doffed her tunic to give Elrohir access to her arm. She wore a light cotton shift beneath, so nakedness did not concern her this time, when he tended her. He handed her a clean cloth, with which she dabbed at the blood. It was a pretty deep cut—not quite to the bone, and about three inches in length.

As soon as the herbal water was warm, he began dipping another clean section of cloth into it and cleaning out the wound. Jeren hoped that that would be all he intended to do. She'd heard enough about stitching Orc wounds lately that she knew she'd not be sewed upon. But when he looked at her, her heart fell. The sympathy in his face spoke volumes. Whatever he intended as a cure would not be pleasant, she was now sure of that.

"I cannot take the chance that this cut was not made with the same poison used on your father and Elladan," he told her quietly. He placed the blade of his knife into the open flames. "If it's any consolation to you, you get to do the same to me." He pointed to a slice on the calf of his left leg.

Jeren had been right—it was not pleasant. She almost swooned with the pain of the searing hot blade on the edges of the cut. Elrohir then swabbed it with healing herbs and bandaged her.

"We'll look at that in a couple of hours. I hope what I've done so far will be enough, but it is something we need to keep watch over." He sliced the cloth of his leggings to give Jeren access to his wound. After cleaning it, it was time for her to cauterize it. She was more afraid of inflicting this pain on him than she'd been to face those Orcs outside.

"You didn't need to do this to Elladan. Perhaps it isn't necessary for you, either," she all but pleaded with him.

"I thought you might jump at the chance to use a knife on me," he told her with a slight smile.

"I'd rather not, if I have the choice."

Even in the dim light, Elrohir could tell all the color had left her face. Yet he needed all his wits about him now and would not gamble that the Orc blade had not been poisoned.

"I am sorry, Jeren, but it must be done. Worry not. I'll try and do it myself."

Elrohir took up the glowing knife, about to apply it to his own wound. But Jeren could not let him do what she knew she must. She took the knife from him with trembling fingers.

"Steady now," he told her. "The blade is sharp."

Not letting herself lose what little heart she had mustered, she pressed the blade to Elrohir's cut. He hissed in a breath, but that was the only sound he made. She closed her eyes momentarily, afraid she might faint or be sick, and when she opened them, he was looking at her. He nodded and she dropped the blade, fighting nausea so great she knew if she moved any muscle at all in her body, her stomach would heave. She finally was able to breathe again, so she finished with Elrohir's injury, applying the poultice and bandaging it.

Elrohir stood and gingerly put his weight on his injured leg. He gradually put more and more weight on his foot until he was standing on both legs equally.

Jeren was still very pale, but she'd gotten up and had begun rolling the beds tight. They gathered and packed until all was ready. They took everything outside and saddled their horses. Jeren tried not to favor the cut on her arm. She knew use would help with the soreness—at least that's what Glorfindel always tried to tell her when she'd hurt herself in training. She never quite knew if he was right about that or not.

"Have heart, Young Lady," Elrohir told her. "So far, luck has been with us. If our luck holds, we'll be at the settlement for noon meal. And by then, you'll be fit enough to be glad of that fact."

"If luck had been with us, Elrohir," she said in an exasperated tone, "would Orcs have attacked us at all?"

"If luck had not been with us, Jeren," he said patiently, "we would not be here to argue about it."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**


	6. The Fathers

_Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all its characters, races, and creatures, as well as our beloved Middle-earth, belongs to JRR Tolkien._

Elrohir and Jeren made good time, arriving at the stronghold a little before noon. Jeren gave Aragorn the message that Anardil had sent with her. He took it from her without reading it. In fact he barely gave her any notice at all. His eyes were on Elrohir—his brother looked as if he'd seen too many battles. He had black eyes, which were turned a very subtle purple by now, the bruises almost gone. But not far enough gone to escape Aragorn's exacting scrutiny.

"There's been trouble?" Aragorn asked.

"Much of it, brother," Elrohir said. "I will tell you over a plate of food, if we could." Aragorn and Elrohir led the way into the dining hall, where there were many other rangers in the process of filling plates and cups. The three of them took their turn at the table heaped with meat and bread and then made their way to an empty space at one of the long tables that occupied the room. There was a great deal of noise with so many men in such a confined area, but Elrohir commenced informing Aragorn of the events of the past few weeks.

Elrohir told him of how they'd sent out scouting patrols for several days prior, and how one of the groups had been successful in finding a pack of Orcs about twenty strong. And of how they'd confronted the Orc band as they emerged from the cave at the end of the day before yesterday. He glanced at Jeren before continuing. He very much wanted to make up some story as to how they became engaged in battle with a band of Orcs that, in reality, was more than three times the rangers' strength, but decided that honesty would be the best example for her, so he told Aragorn the truth of it. One of the men had shot his bow prematurely and they had then been committed to battling over forty Orcs—hand to hand, sword to sword, with too few archers—instead of just backing away from the battle, as they should have.

"Forty! So many," Aragorn said. "'Tis been long since we have seen such numbers of the beasts amassed. And as I recall, you and Elladan set out with only ten men." Aragorn frowned. "Who was it Elrohir, that shot without orders? He must be disciplined."

"It was young Galer. I'm afraid he's already been disciplined in the worst way, Estel. He's dead—as are all the others, save Anardil, Rhyse, Elladan and me."

Aragorn pushed his plate away and rested his elbows on the table. He blew out a breath and closed his eyes, placing his lips against his steepled hands as if in prayer. As he opened them again, his hands fell to the table. His expression was stormy. "The Dúnedain are too few as it is. We can ill afford to lose any men, much less eight at one time."

"You are not telling me anything I do not know, Estel," Elrohir said, his tone regretful.

Jeren waited for Elrohir to tell of her part in the battle, but he never did. She was sorely disappointed, but what could she say without sounding self-important? And when Elrohir did not continue, did not tell of his capture by Orcs and Jeren's rescue of him, she grew more and more angry. _He'd promised to speak to Aragorn in her behalf—what was he waiting for? _

Not able to abide it any longer, rather than make another scene before the men of the Dúnedain, she got up from the table and took her plate to the place where the diners could leave their dirty dishes. She then left the hall.

Jeren prepared for her departure. Her plans were the same as before Elrohir joined her. She was going to Rivendell. She found Two in the stable, and murmuring her regrets for not allowing the poor animal more rest, gave the mare a measure of oats to satisfy her until she could graze again. Jeren placed a blanket on Two's back, then reached for the saddle. Jeren felt a twinge in her arm and it frightened her. She'd almost forgotten that Orc cut. She prayed that it would not go bad on her, as her father's had gone bad on him.

While Two finished her oats, Jeren refilled her waterskin and repacked her saddlebags, replenishing what she could from the stronghold's stores. She had come across a ranger that she knew from when she and Anardil had ridden together when she was younger, after her mother had died. He had helped her find the things she asked for.

Elrohir found her just as she was leading Two from the stable. "Why did you not wait for me, Jeren?" he asked her.

She didn't want to speak to him, she was so angry with him. _Angry? No, hurt is what she was. _When she walked past him and didn't speak, he grabbed her arm. She yanked it away.

"Leave me alone, Elrohir!" she said in a quiet, but firm voice. "Please. Just leave me alone." She immediately felt sorry. The look of confusion on his face told her he had no notion what had made her so irate with him.

Instead of explaining herself to him, she merely said, "I must get to Rivendell—to see about my father. I'm very worried about him."

"Just give me a few minutes, Jeren, to check your arm, and then I will go with you. I need to see to that wound of yours. I cannot let you go without at least making sure that the cut has not turned serious."

Although she knew he was right, Jeren wanted to be away from him. "I don't have a few minutes. I'm hale enough, Elrohir. Be sure and have Lord Aragorn look after your injury, though."

"It is foolhardy to ignore this, Jeren. I would hate to see you lose your arm, when it could have been prevented by simple upkeep in a timely manner." He could tell he'd reached her better sense then, so he took Two's reins from her hand, tied them to a post, and led her back inside the hall.

They went to Aragorn's alcove, where his desk and chairs were. Jeren sat and Elrohir motioned for her to take off her tunic. She blanched. _Here? In the open for all to see? _

He bent toward her so that only she could hear what he said. "If you would ever become a ranger, do you believe you will have your own separate dressing quarters? Toughen up, girl; at least bare your arm." She complied, keeping herself covered the best that she could.

He'd prepared what he needed before he even went to find Jeren. In fact, Aragorn had tended to the injury on Elrohir's leg before Elrohir had even sought Jeren out.

He took care of her wound with quiet efficiency, telling her it was no worse than before. She was bandaged again in a matter of minutes. She pulled her tunic up over her arm and stood while she tied the ties that closed it.

"May I _go_ now?" she asked, just the slightest hint of sarcasm in her voice.

"Yes, you may _go_ and I will go with you. Thank you for your indulgence, _Miss_." His sarcasm was much more pronounced than hers had been. She hid her smile from him. This was truly Elrohir at his finest.

As they crossed the yard toward the stable, Aragorn came from within, leading Elrohir's saddled horse.

"Thank you, Estel," Elrohir said as he took the reins. Jeren got up on Two's back and they cantered out of the settlement.

Imladris was several hours' ride from the stronghold. It was now a couple of hours past noon, so if it were Elrohir alone, he could ride hard and would make it home just before dark. However, Two could not stand up to the pace that Elrohir's horse would set. Elrohir knew they would have to camp for the night. Jeren would balk, but there was no other way. He refused to be about after nightfall. He was tired and sore still, and had battled hard just that morning. And even though he made light of his capture to Jeren, his night with the beasts had disheartened him greatly. He in no way wanted to tempt the fates—being taken by Orcs again was plainly not in his plans.

When it was dusk, and the shadows long, Elrohir called a halt.

"But Elrohir, we're so close! My father could already be there. Please, let's continue. We're almost to the Imladris crossing. Once we make it across the Bruinen, we'll be safe on Elven land."

"No, Jeren. I feel uneasy. And you said yourself you listen to Elves when traveling in the wild."

She sighed, but gave in.

They found a small cave—a true cave, not just a place sheltered by rock—and Elrohir pronounced it home for the night. It did not smell of Orcs, so he knew they did not frequent it. They would be safe enough, especially if he did not sleep.

They didn't make a fire—they chewed on more of Jeren's dried meat—and they laid down their bedrolls and stretched out upon them.

What Elrohir had told Jeren had been true—he felt a vague uneasiness. He knew not from whence it came. He did not sense Orcs, or anything else particularly, but it stayed with him, nagging at him.

The truth finally dawned on him—he was sensing Elladan, and something his brother feared. So he put his head to work, as he lay there, calling out with his mind to his twin's.

And then suddenly Elrohir knew.

Elladan had left his mind unguarded, so Elrohir could know his thoughts. Elrohir learned that Elladan had been successful getting Anardil to Rivendell. His brother had started out before dawn and he'd carried Anardil before him on his own horse. They had ridden as hard as was possible, riding double, with the man being a dead weighted burden. He'd left Rhyse to get back to the stronghold with Joem and Brid.

And now Elladan truly feared for Anardil's life. Anardil was dying. Even after having their father's help. Elrohir was sure of it.

He wanted to wake Jeren up and start for home, despite what he'd told her before. He knew not how much time they had, if he was to get Jeren to Rivendell before her father succumbed to his wound. He worried over the dilemma for quite awhile, but knew the wisdom of staying right where they were. He would keep attuned to his brother, and he would know if—or when—the worst had happened.

When it was still well before dawn, Elrohir could stand it no longer. The feeling of foreboding had grown in intensity, and that could mean only one thing—Anardil was worse. After he woke her, Elrohir told Jeren nothing other than they must make haste. He gave her the impression it was to outrun whatever might be in the darkness, but he knew the truth—she did not.

They passed the gates of Imladris just as the dawn was breaking. Elrohir jumped from his horse almost before it had stopped, and he grabbed Jeren's reins in an effort to speed her along. When she was on the ground, he took hold of her hand and they ran into the house, down the long corridors, until they came to the healing halls. They burst through the doors and Elrohir followed the muted voices until he found Anardil's bed.

The man was pale beneath the tan of his skin, and he lay there still as death itself. Jeren ran to his bedside, and once there, checked for the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. And she saw that he did still breathe. She let out a sigh, thinking she'd been afraid for nothing. But she looked up at the grim faces of those gathered there—Elrond, Elladan, Glorfindel—even Erestor—and she knew that she still had much to fear.

"Why are you all here? Why do you look this way?" Jeren aimed her questions at Elrond. "My father is going to be fine—is he not?"

Elrond looked away at first, not wanting to tell the girl that her father could not live through what ailed him. But he knew her too well; knew that she would want the truth. "No, Jeren, he will not be fine," was all that Elrond said.

Anardil stirred then and opened his eyes. Jeren clutched his hand—which was cool to the touch. He smiled at her. "Jeren—," he started, then coughed. He waved away the water glass Elladan held out to him. "Jeren," Anardil started again, "you're a sight for sore eyes."

She smiled at the way he ever greeted her, even though her tears had started. "I'm here, Papa," she said quietly. The others walked a short distance away, giving the pair a measure of privacy.

"There's much I would tell you, daughter," he rasped, "but I'm not big on words, you know." It broke Jeren's heart when she heard his once strong voice now so weak and quavering.

"I know, Papa," she replied. "There's much I would tell you, too, but I only seem to make you angry these days, so perhaps I should just be silent." Her voice quavered, too, she noted, though from tears, not from illness.

"'Twas not anger at you, Jeren, but fear for you that made me say such terrible things. I am truly sorry for that." After a short pause, he added, "I love you, daughter. And I'm very proud of the woman you have become. You know that, do you not?"

Jeren felt regret that now that he would no longer be with her, she would at last know a small portion of his heart. It meant the world to her, hearing him say those words. "I know, Papa."

"I hope to see your sweet mother soon. The room grows dim, but there's a light that shines for me."

Jeren's silent tears kept falling. Anardil closed his eyes and did not speak again. She knelt by his bed, holding his hand in both of hers. They stayed that way for almost an hour. Finally, he took two more deep breaths—and then he was still.

Jeren laid her face against his cool arm and sobbed. Elrond went to her, put his hands on her shoulders and drew her up and into his arms, where he let her cry for a few minutes. He then gently turned her and guided her out of the healing halls, down several long corridors and up a flight of stairs, to the room that had been her own for the past seven years.

He turned down the bed, intending to put her in it, but she hesitated. "No, Lord Elrond. I'm much too dirty to lie in the clean linen. Let me bathe first."

"Are you sure, dear one?" he asked her in his most soothing voice. "The linen is changeable, whenever you would wish it to be changed. There's no need to trouble yourself about it."

"I will be better able to rest if I'm clean," she told him.

"Need I send Naith to help you?"

"No, that isn't necessary."

"If you are sure, Jeren. I will be within hearing should you need me for any little thing. Just call for me. I'll be here shortly."

She walked into his arms again, feeling like it was the shelter she'd always needed that her own father could not give to her, for whatever his reasons. She finally stepped back, fresh tears on her face. "Thank you, Lord Elrond. I love you."

He smiled at her, gave her a little wink. "I love you, too, dear one." He placed his fingers beneath her chin, bringing her face up so that he could look into her eyes. "Call for me if you have need of me." He then turned and left her.

As she prepared to bathe, Jeren thought about Elrond. In many ways, he had been more father to her than Anardil had ever been. He'd counseled her long on problems she would bring to him. She knew she could speak of anything to him, and not be judged or scorned. Why could not her own father have nurtured her in this way?

As she disrobed, she thought about her father. Anardil was a man, who had lived a hard, lean life—all his life. He was brave and loyal, although she seldom felt that loyalty when it came to her. He had loved her mother fiercely, of that Jeren had no doubt. He was absent for most of Jeren's life, except for a brief—yet to Jeren, wonderful—time when she had traveled with him.

So to expect him to be brimming with advice about things that concerned her, when he knew not what they were, nor was that his way, was unjust. Comparing Anardil to Elrond was completely unfair. They were both noble, brave beings, but they were as different as night is to day. Her father had loved her and was proud of her—he'd said so with his dying breaths.

She would truly try to believe what he said…

As Jeren went into her bathing chamber, she heaved a deep sigh. As many times as they had had cross words, she loved her father deeply. But the hurt that he'd dealt her had cut her intensely, sometimes to unforgivable depths. Even though she was still trying to convince herself of her father's love for her, for now his dying words made his death a little more bearable.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

More than an hour later, Jeren emerged from her bathing chamber dressed in a plain white nightshift that she favored. She went out on the balcony, combing her long, wet hair, and sat at the table that was centered on the veranda. It was a late spring morning, so the temperature was pleasant, if a little bit cool.

The Elves were singing today, probably in the Hall of Fire. They sang a lament that she knew marked the passing of her father. She'd heard these songs before, though rarely in her seven years in Rivendell, and never for the natural death of an Elf. Usually it was a warrior who died in battle—either Elven or Dúnedain. Or perhaps a messenger sent out on an errand that had run afoul of Orcs or had met with other catastrophes on his route. But today the Elves in Rivendell sang for her father, and it made her even more profoundly sad.

She wished them to stop! She did not want to spend her day with tears as her constant companion. She knew she should be abed—she'd dressed for it. But while she felt a million years old, she was restless. She felt like finding Two and riding until she could not ride any longer.

She sat for a few moments more, then she stood abruptly. She could not sit here and listen to these Elven dirges for another second. She went back into her room and dressed for the day. She hoped to sneak down the stairs, so no one would be the wiser. She not only wanted to ride—she wanted to ride alone.

But as she neared the top step of the staircase, she knew it was not to be. _Who had she been fooling? She lived with Elves, after all._ Elrond must have heard her stirring, because the door to his room opened and out he came. She cursed her bad luck, but at least it was not Elrohir! She'd had enough of him following her around for awhile. And even though he'd gotten her home to see her father before his death, she was still angered and hurt by what she felt was his betrayal—Elrohir's not telling Aragorn of her rescue of him. He'd promised to speak to Aragorn, but he'd not even thought to tell him of her help to the rangers in the battle they'd fought.

Elrond was not dressed in his usual robes. He had on the casual garb the twins always favored—plain tunic and leggings with soft leather boots.

"Ah, Jeren," he said with ease, "I'd hoped I might go riding with you."

Not for the first time since she'd become acquainted with Elves did she wonder just how he could know. How did the Elves do this—seemingly read her mind? She'd asked Lord Elrond before, when just this type of 'coincidence' would occur, how the Elves did this, if they could not discern people's thoughts. He confessed one day that Elves, having such long lives, grew bored at times and they—well, he anyway—often made a game of listening to sounds to try and discover what people were doing when they were not in his sight. Yes, he felt somewhat guilty for the eavesdropping, but it was all in good fun, at least for him. It was, in his estimation, just an effect of their millennia of being alive. Over time the sounds and events that followed them took on a pattern—that was how it was done. Elves did not read minds. She still had cause to wonder if he was being completely honest with her about this.

"I would be honored, Lord Elrond." She sounded resigned, even to herself.

"Please bear with me—I'll only take a little of your day," he said. At her beginnings of protest that she would be glad to ride with him, he held up a hand. "I have need to speak with you about something and I do not wish to wait for another time. Shall we go?"

They started down the stairs and at the bottom he touched her arm. "I almost forgot—Elrohir told me about your cut with the Orc blade. I mean to check that before we leave." He led her back to the healing halls. She hesitated outside the doors, not wanting to go back into the place that now held a heartbreaking memory. But she straightened her spine, forced her tears away and entered.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"Lord Elrond, please do not make me stay! You must let me ride."

Jeren sat in the healing halls, while Elrond fussed over her. When he'd first touched her bare arm, he'd grown alarmed. He could tell she was fevered. Not a good sign. He'd shaken his head and advised her to rest instead of ride.

Then when the bandage had been removed, Jeren could see on his face that the news was not what she'd hoped for.

"Is it bad?" she asked with growing unease. She remembered Elrohir's comment about losing her arm and it turned her cold.

"Well, it is not good," he told her smoothly. "I see no signs that the poison is working still, but the infection is severe. Is this arm not throbbing, dear one?"

"Mayhap a bit, but it's nothing I cannot endure."

He rolled his eyes at her. "Enduring is not what concerns me. Resting will speed your recovery. You know this is true."

She decided to tell _him_ the truth of it. "I have to leave. I cannot abide the singing any longer."

"Then I will tell them to stop. 'Tis a simple matter."

"But I don't want them to stop!" she said, her eyes beginning to tear. "I want them to continue. They honor my father—he deserves the tribute. I just cannot bear listening right now, that is all. Perhaps later, it won't affect me so badly."

In the end, Elrond relented, but would only allow her to ride if he accompanied her for the entire time, and for as long as _he_ saw fit. Jeren agreed, and they left, first stopping by the kitchens to grab a light meal to take with them.

She felt so free on Two's back at a gallop. Jeren felt as if she could ride this way for hours. But she did not want to overburden her mare; the horse had shown nothing but heart on this last trip that they'd shared, and Two deserved more rest than Jeren had allowed her. So before Jeren was truly ready, she slowed to a walk. Elrond pointed to where he thought they might stop and have rest and repast—near a beautiful pond, surrounded on one side by a stand of cedars.

They frightened a pair of swans when they rode up, the great white birds first paddling across the water, then taking flight. Jeren was at peace like she hadn't been in several days, perhaps weeks. The two of them were silent for quite a while; Elrond knew of Jeren's need for quiet and solitude, and hoped not to disturb that too much with his presence. He waited for her to start any conversation they might have. In the meantime he set out the small meal they would share.

"Think you I could have done something differently?" she finally asked him. At Elrond's puzzled look, she continued, "I mean with my father—when he was cut by the Orc blade. I did as he and Elladan told me to, but if I'd done something else, perhaps he might have lived?"

"No, young one," Elrond said. "That wound was fatal the minute it was struck. Its location and depth—even had one of the twins tended to him, they could not have saved him. Neither you nor they knew of the poison. It must be a new one—or perhaps ancient—that I have put into the recesses of my mind. But it is black at its heart, as Orcs are. I will work long finding its source and its cure."

Jeren considered this in silence. Since Elrond obviously knew about the battle, she wondered just how much Elrohir and Elladan had told him. Knowing them—and Elrond—she doubted they'd told him the entire story. Also, he'd not asked how she'd come to be wounded, and she'd not given him the information.

"What about me, my lord? Will my arm heal? I know not what good I would be without two arms."

He chuckled at her, not meaning any harm. "I do believe you will heal—and be a two-armed woman. It was very good that my sons realized that what ailed Anardil was not simply infection, but a toxic agent—and I _should_ let them know how much I approve of their skill—mind you, I said _should_.

"Having that knowledge allowed Elrohir to treat you correctly immediately after your injury. Otherwise, I am afraid not only would you have been a one-armed woman, you would have ultimately died of your wound." He looked into her eyes, so she would believe exactly what he said next. "Worry about it no more. It looks to be simple infection—unpleasant to be sure—but highly curable."

He looked at her sternly for a moment then, as a parent might frown at a wayward child. "I will never be at ease with you battling Orcs."

"I have battled against them in the company of the Imladris force—and many Elven teachers. And Glorfindel pronounced me ready. –But I wish not to talk about Orcs right now, if you do not mind." She breathed a sigh of relief. She had evaded the issue at present.

They ate in silence for a while. Cheese, fresh-baked bread with butter, along with a little ham. Apples for later.

After they'd eaten their fill, they sat together quietly for some time. Jeren decided to broach a subject on her mind of late, concerning her and her father, but it was something she had never discussed with Elrond. She was somewhat embarrassed to ask the Elf lord about this. What child wanted to admit that not only did their own father possibly not love them, but might not have liked them either? She remembered her anger and hurt at her father's cruel words the last time she saw him—before he was brought to Rivendell. Now that her father was gone, she felt less guilty and ashamed to be asking this question.

With her head bowed, she asked him, "Why did my father not love me?" Jeren looked up into Elrond's eyes as soon as the question was out. "He said that he did on his deathbed, but I am sure there are things said on deathbeds that are not necessarily true, but are only what one expects to say, as well as what others might expect to hear. His actions constantly belied his last words."

Elrond smiled a sad smile, and his face took on a faraway look. "Your father was ever a mystery and a puzzle to me, when it came to you. You might not know this but he felt much the same way about his father as you do about him. They were very alike—he and his sire—stubborn and headfast—and unable to say what was in their hearts. They knocked heads so many times, 'tis a wonder neither broke his neck." Elrond looked at her then and smiled again. "Anardil loved you, Jeren; never doubt that. And I do not tell you this because it may be something you might expect me to say at a time like this. He truly did love you."

"He was angry with me the last time I saw him—I mean not in the healing halls, but after—," Jeren stopped, not wanting to get into an explanation of the battle and how she'd gone to rescue Elrohir alone. She did not think that Elrond would be particularly impressed with her daring. More likely, he'd be angry with her, too. "But then," she said to steer away from the subject she did not want to discuss, "he was more often angry than happy with me. I've frequently wondered just what I could have done to make him love me better—besides having been born a son instead of a daughter."

She bit into an apple, chewed for a few moments, then swallowed.

"Only a day ago, he said some truly hateful things to me. It hurt my heart, and made me angry with him. I guess I still am, somewhere inside. But I'm also distraught at his loss. 'Tis a very confusing feeling."

"That is how feelings mostly are—a perplexing jumble to sort out. I am sure that with time you will sort yours out, and you will come to the realization that your father did the best he could, and that is really all one can expect of someone else, is it not? They might not live up to our hopes, but if they truly try, with what knowledge they have, how can we fault them?"

Jeren considered his words for a few moments. "But he was my father. I would think a father would know what his child might need. You have always known what I needed. Why did he not?"

"A child is not born to a parent, with that parent possessing foresight on the best way to raise him. And you were a motherless _female_ child—already half grown—when you were thrust upon him." At Jeren's hurt expression, Elrond quickly added, "None of which was your fault. But neither was it his.

"After Jennah died, the wise thing for him to do would have been to turn you over to your aunt and uncle at the settlement. Your aunt is a wonderful woman, you would like her." He reached out and took her chin in his fingers, lifting her face so she'd look at him. "But he wanted you with him. I think you were a little bit of Jennah he had left, and he wanted not to part with you. Until he realized that being out on patrol was no place for a thirteen-year-old girl. But still his inflexible pride would not allow him to ask your kin for a place for you in their home.

"His answer to problems when it came to you was always the same: run. Run away as fast as he could and deny they existed. A case of 'what he did not know might not be so bad'. 'Tis how you came to be alone out at the cabin, to be attacked by Orcs. He never meant for anything bad to happen to you, he just denied to himself that it could. And when something did, he was devastated.

"He raised you as he'd been raised, and in your case, that was not always the right way. Although you've fought it for most of your life, you are female and all he knew were a man's ways. And the times have changed. The world is bleaker now than when he was a lad.

"Which brings me to what I wanted to speak to you about. 'Tis nothing pressing or of major import—at least it shouldn't be—as far as you are concerned. Yet knowing your pride—you are your father's daughter in many respects, dear one—I wanted to make sure that all was entirely clear." He gazed into her eyes, seeing there curiosity, but not worry. That was exactly as he wanted to approach this subject.

"Jeren," he began, "you are and have been of majority for a few years now, at least as far as Humans count things. Were you Elfkind, you'd still have a few decades before you would be pronounced adult. Yet I want you to know I respect the fact that you are not Elven; you are Human.

"I would never try to take Anardil's place, yet I will gladly guide you if you ask it of me. I hope you know that I consider you my daughter, regardless of our differences in race and lack of blood between us. I need for you to know that you have a room in my house forever—when you're seventy-and-three, if you so choose—but definitely for now, while to _my_ eyes, you are still my young one."

Without speaking, Jeren rose and then settled right next to Elrond, in the crook of his arm, laying her head upon his shoulder. "I am humbled, my lord. And so very honored to be considered a part of your family. I know not exactly what I will do in the future, but for now, I would most love being here in Rivendell, in my room—_at home_. There's much to consider—and much to tell you about how things went at the stronghold. But for now, could we just sit here?"

He agreed that they could, and he stroked her hair as she silently wept.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**


	7. The Confessions

_Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all its characters, races, and creatures, as well as our beloved Middle Earth, belongs to JRR Tolkien._

"So tell me, Elladan, what is between you and Jeren?" It was late afternoon and the twins were on the balcony off Elrohir's room in Rivendell, sitting at a small table, sharing a glass of wine in a toast to Anardil.

Elladan almost spit out his drink, he was so surprised by the unexpected question. As it was, he swallowed, then coughed, before he recovered his composure. "What makes you think there is something between us?"

Elrohir gave his brother a look that screamed of doubt. Elladan had answered a question with a question—a classic diversionary tactic.

"I saw you kissing her the day she rescued me from the Orcs. You started it, and it took you some time before you finished it. You play a dangerous game, if you are playing, Elladan. You could break her heart."

"I'm trying very hard not to break any hearts, Brother." Elladan got up from the table, taking his glass with him. He leaned his arms on the railing, looking out over the valley of Rivendell.

"Elladan—," Elrohir started in an admonishing tone.

"I care for her, Elrohir. Is that what you want to hear? I'm trying my best to get her out of my mind and my heart, but it isn't easy. You see how she throws herself at me."

"She has told you she loves you. That does not equate with throwing herself at you."

"You do not know the half of it, Elrohir. You are not always around when she is, you know."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means what I said."

"When have the two of you been here that I have not?"

"About four months ago, when I had the break in my arm and needed a week or so for it to heal, is the time I'm particularly talking about." Elladan nodded his head when he could see the light go on in Elrohir's eyes, signaling his understanding at last.

"Ah, yes. So Jeren threw herself at you then?" Elrohir looked skeptical. "Elladan, she has never so much as tried to hold your hand and you expect me to believe this?"

"Well, as it happens, she shared what was supposed to be a glass of wine with me one evening. One glass for her turned into the entire bottle, except for the glass that I had. She was well into her cups, believe me. I doubt she even truly remembers all that went on."

"And what did go on, Elladan?" Elrohir asked him accusingly.

"One thing and then another. She would not let me be. Let's just say that had Anardil learned of it, Jeren and I would be wed by now."

It was Elrohir's turn to choke on his drink. Sputtering, he said, "Elladan, you fool!" Then he blurted, "It was probably that red from the Shire—I forget its name, but its potency is legendary."

"No, Elrohir, it was not that red from the Shire, but a Dorwinion that Thranduil gifted to father last year." Grimacing at the inane turn in the conversation, he continued, "Regardless, Jeren seems to have no tolerance for drink."

"Still, Elladan, you could have tried harder to dissuade her."

"How do you know, Elrohir? You were not there." Elladan's eyes were stormy with hurt, to think his brother thought the worst of him, without even hearing him out. He calmed somewhat and continued with his explanation. "I wonder what you would have done in the situation. She was weeping, and we both know I'm no good with that. Could you have turned her away, when she was lamenting to you that, since Orcs had forced themselves on her, she feared no decent man would have her?" Elladan paused, then said, "I suppose there was probably a better way to prove her wrong rather than to show her, but at the time..."

Elrohir got up and stood next to his brother. "I am sorry, Elladan. You are right, I was not there."

"When the morning was young, I bundled her up and took her to her room. She never woke up. I think she passed out from all the wine. And she's not mentioned it since. I truly believe she does not remember."

Elrohir was quiet for a minute, then said, "And after Father's endless lectures on the perils of mixing Humans and Elves. What will he say when he learns of this?"

"He has not learned of it so far, Elrohir, and he'd better not learn of it from you!" Elladan looked his twin dead in the eyes, emphasizing that this secret had better be only between the two of them. When he finally looked away, he continued, not able to erase the testiness in his voice, "Of _course_ I remember Father's endless lectures." His tone softened a moment later when he added, "But sometimes the heart does not listen when it should."

"Are you telling me you are in love with Jeren?"

"I am telling you I do not know what I feel. I used to know; at least I thought I did. But now that she and I have been—close—I'm confused. It has clouded my thinking. I truly know not how I feel. I thought I was making love to her for her benefit—so she could see she was undamaged and beautiful, but now, I wonder if I wanted it all along, too."

Elrohir truly didn't know what to say to his brother, so he shifted to a different angle of the subject. "You remember what you told her when she first proclaimed her love for you, do you not?" Elrohir asked quietly. "You told her of Elves and Humans and the problems encountered if they tried to bond. Those were words of wisdom, Brother. You should listen to yourself."

Elladan was quiet, so Elrohir added, "Go play with Naith. She will give you the diversion you need to stop thinking about Jeren. She will remind you what it means to be an Elf!"

Elladan smiled. Naith was a sweet Elf, that was for sure.

Elrohir pursed his lips in his uncertainty, then asked, "So you truly think Jeren does not remember?"

"Well give it some thought, Elrohir!" The testiness was back in Elladan's voice. "Had she remembered going to bed with me, she would have lit up so brightly that Father could not have helped but notice it. My hide would now be nailed to the stable wall!"

Elrohir quirked one eyebrow, and lifted his glass to his lips. He took a sip and then said, "Well, I'm not so sure how 'lit up' Jeren would have been at the idea of you having bedded her, but I am sure about one thing—your secret must be safe; did he know of it, Father would indeed have your hide."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Jeren and Elrond spent the better part of the afternoon at the pond. Finally he told her, "We must head back. You look as if you feel worse, and I need to refresh the poultice on your wound." She did not argue, which further convinced him that he needed to tend to her. They gathered up what was left of their meal and rode back to the Last Homely House.

Before he allowed her to return to her room, they visited the healing halls once again. He again fussed over her, applying more poultice and changing the bandage on her arm. He announced that her injury was no better, but was also no worse.

"Thank you, Lord Elrond," she said tiredly. "I think I will go to bed now. Good night."

"What, no evening meal?"

"I think not. My appetite is gone. I'm just tired—and sad. I'll feel better tomorrow."

Elrond looked at her doubtfully. "Nevertheless, I will send Daeron with at least some soup and bread. And you'd better see that you eat it, dear one. I plan to check in on you before I retire."

Jeren smiled, nodded and went to her room.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"What does a sire need do to have his sons' company?" Elrond said, in a somewhat caustic manner, "besides inviting himself?" He'd barged into Elrohir's room without knocking and strode purposefully toward them out on the veranda.

Elrond was not truly angry; he just enjoyed seeing the twins squirm at times. Made him feel somewhat more in control, one might say.

The Elf lord had gone in search of his sons as soon as he'd returned from his outing with Jeren. He did not search for long, which made him happy. They tended at times to up and be gone without much notice. But this time he found them in Elrohir's room—on the veranda, drinking what looked to be the last of a bottle of red wine. He seated himself at the table with them, took Elladan's glass, and, drinking long, emptied it.

The quiet in the room echoed. It seemed he'd interrupted some conversation they did not want to include him in. No matter. He had found with time that the older these two got, the more he did not want to know everything that went on in their lives.

"Tell me about this new poison," he said in opening the discussion.

Elladan spoke first. "This toxin is unique in that it does not become apparent that anything is amiss at first. Usually, if an Orc blade is poisoned, one knows immediately. In the past, it seemed as if most of their poisons worked rapidly, killing soon after the injury was inflicted. But this one works somewhat as the one used on our mother. She did not become very sick until after we found her.

"I do not believe it is the same poison, only that it works in much the same way. I knew I was sick only a few hours later, but I felt only as if the wound was infected. Yet had not Anardil's cut become necrotic, I am not sure I would have known I'd been poisoned at all, except for the rapid onset of the severe infection.

"I feel badly about Anardil. Had circumstances been different, perhaps I would have noticed just how serious his wound had become in time to prevent the devastating turn it took."

"I think it has more to do with the fact that you are Elven and he was Human," Elrond said. "Your body naturally heals itself faster, and while you had a nasty reaction to the toxin, your Elven heritage did not allow for the necroses to take hold. I think this poison is specifically aimed at Humans."

"And Jeren's wound," Elrohir put in, "was tended directly after it was dealt. I cauterized it, in hopes that if the wound were poisoned, it would stop any necrotic tendencies the poison possessed."

"I think that is what saved her, Elrohir," Elrond said. "The swiftness with which you tended it and the searing of the wound. I am not sure Anardil would have been saved even had his injury been dealt with likewise at the time; its location and depth would have made it very hard to tend to successfully."

"And then you have the mental effects of this poison," Elrohir said, glancing at his twin.

"What do you mean?" Elladan asked, then he recalled how Anardil had acted, sending Jeren off and then not remembering it. "Oh yes, Anardil definitely showed signs that it affected his mind."

"Not only Anardil," Elrohir said, starting to smile. "You became quite the chatterer, shall we say?"

"I did not." Elladan said, beginning to frown. "I know not why you are saying such things. I do not remember anything of the sort."

"Yes," Elrohir said, nodding once. "What exactly do you remember, Elladan? Can you sit there and tell me that you remember every detail of all that transpired at the time?"

"Of course I can," Elladan said, that testiness he was prone to coming to the fore. "I remember it all exactly as it happened."

"Then tell me, Brother, what possessed you to argue with Anardil?" Elrohir felt that this conversation Elladan had with Anardil had been very suspect—if Elladan remembered it, Elrohir would be surprised.

"I never argued with Anardil," Elladan said. "When did I do this?"

"You do not remember scolding him about something he said?" Elrohir asked him. "You will know to what I refer, if you remember the incident at all. Do you remember tending his wound?"

"Yes, I remember that!" Elladan said, his face almost angry and his tone defensive.

But slowly his expression turned to one of acceptance, and his voice held resignation when he continued. "You are right. I do not remember all that went on. I realize now that there are blanks in my memory. I remember tending to Anardil's wound, but before that, I vaguely recall walking into the campsite and Jeren leaving. And afterwards, I remember after darkness had fallen, wondering where you had gone. Rhyse set me straight on that. I questioned at the time why he looked at me so strangely.

"It is true. This toxin works on the mind as well as the body."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Jeren bathed again, taking a long, leisurely soak until the water was all but cold. She noticed the lack of singing as she dressed for bed. Funny, she hadn't realized the quiet until now.

She did not go directly to bed. She sat in her nightdress at the table on the veranda. By now it was dark, the sky filled with millions of tiny stars, glittering like precious stones. There was nothing like the night sky, and she wanted to see it. Count the stars. A little game she and her father had played—she now knew it was to make her sleepy—when she was a child. Fresh tears coursed down her face.

She sat there silently weeping until there was a soft knock on her door. Sitting up quickly, she swiped at her wet cheeks. She knew it would be Daeron with her tray for supper, but she honestly did not want to see anyone, nor eat anything, so she didn't respond. Perhaps he would think her asleep and leave her alone. But it was not to be. The door opened and, surprisingly, it was Elrohir that poked his head into the doorway, finally spying her out on the balcony. He let himself in.

"I do not recall telling you to enter," she said in a flat voice.

"I hoped you wouldn't mind seeing me, Jeren. There's something I wish to speak to you about."

"Well, I do not wish to speak to you, Elrohir, so since it takes at least two to have a conversation, perhaps you should leave." There was now a little more life in her tone.

Instead of following her direction, though, he pulled out a chair and seated himself. She looked at him, her growing anger sparkling in her eyes. "Mayhap if I spoke to you in Elvish, you would understand me better?" she asked him.

He frowned at her. "I wonder what I have done to make you so angry with me. I knew it yesterday before we left the stronghold and I can see that nothing's changed."

"Please, just go away, Elrohir." She did not want to discuss this right now. She was mourning her father, whether she truly wanted to or not. She was very tired of all the tears and they were apt to fall without much warning. She had no energy for guarding against them embarrassing her in front of Elrohir.

Again there was a knock on the door. When Jeren didn't move to answer—she just continued her uninterrupted gaze at him—Elrohir called for whomever it was to come in. It was Daeron with her supper. Jeren smiled at him as he drew near the table to deposit the tray. He'd been one of her constant friends over the years; they'd often gone riding together when neither of them was otherwise occupied.

He set the tray before her, but instead of turning and leaving, he held his arms out to her. She rose and let him embrace her. "I am so sorry about Anardil," he whispered into her ear. "If you have need to talk, or need someone to simply sit with you, call for me." Not trusting her voice if she answered, she nodded. He gave her one last hug and left her there with Elrohir.

She hoped she'd have no more visitors wishing to express their sympathy. She sat back down and took the cloth from the tray that had been covering the food. It smelled delicious. She really should eat it. Lord Elrond expected her to. So she took up a spoon and tasted the soup. Very good, but she simply wasn't hungry.

"I spoke to Estel, Jeren," Elrohir said, "yesterday, after you'd left the dining hall."

She lifted her eyes from the bowl before her, and stared at him again. She truly had not wanted to start this conversation in the first place, but at least now he had her interest piqued.

"What I cannot understand, is why you didn't feel the need to tell him that I helped with that senseless battle you and your rangers were engaged in the other day. Nor that I freed you from Orcs—by myself."

Her look was accusing and he tried not to resent it. The fact that he'd spoken to Aragorn about something other than what Jeren thought he had helped ease his own temper.

Since anger now replaced the lifeless tone in her voice, Elrohir decided this must be the source of her displeasure with him. "Estel would not have reacted well, to hearing about either thing. He, in deference to Anardil, would have kept you safe, Jeren. Your father would have had you nowhere near a battle, could he help it. I knew Estel would not have been pleased if informed of your presence, at either event."

The pain of her father's death—at hearing his name out loud—suddenly flared, but she tamped it back down. _She would not weep, especially not in front of Elrohir. _"Then I suppose your effort in speaking to Aragorn was wasted, since he obviously shares my father's opinion."

Elrohir had seen her flinch when he'd mentioned her father's name, but he continued in the same vein. "I _said_ Estel would have deferred to your father's wishes, not that he shared the same opinion. You forget that Estel was all but Elven raised; he does not always share the same mores or attitudes as the men he leads. And therein lies the snag. The men—the other rangers—_do_ share your father's inclinations, and like it or not, those are the men Estel has to work with. They are whom _you_ would have to work with, did you become a ranger like your father was before you. And believe me when I tell you, their views will not be lightly turned."

Although she'd done her best to hold them back, her control deserted her and tears streamed down her face again. Hearing Elrohir speak of Anardil reminded her that just day before yesterday her father had been very much alive—and very displeased with her. _Had he told her truly?_ Was he proud of her, as he said this morning, just a short while before he died? His behavior prior—for years prior—belied that it was true.

Elrohir got up from the table and went around to Jeren. He squatted before her, reaching out to take her hands. She did not resist. He pulled her up with him as he stood and enfolded her in his embrace. They stood there for a few moments, but then he guided her to her bed. He put her in it, propped against the headboard on pillows, then joined her, with his arm around her shoulders. There they sat—in the way they'd been on so many occasions when she'd needed his comfort throughout the years.

"I cannot believe he's not here anymore, Elrohir." Her voice was shaky and she hated the sound of it. "I'm truly alone. Neither of my parents is on this earth any longer. I thought my heart would break when my mother left me, but this—I am not sure I will survive it."

He gave her a squeeze, but said nothing at first. He just let her cry. Truthfully, his own composure was hanging by a thread. Anardil had been a friend and a visitor in Rivendell for many, many years. Not only did Elrohir's heart hurt for Jeren, but he would miss the man, too.

Finally, he told her, "I know it seems a feeble thing to say, but you will survive. How do I know? Because I've lived thousands of years, through much heartbreak—at times it brought me to my knees. But I'm still here. And we both know that Elves tend toward flimsy hearts. If I—a mere Elf—can withstand these things, surely you, with your stout Human heart, will be fine—ultimately."

Jeren couldn't believe it, but she found herself chuckling. Of course Elrohir would make her laugh—at the most improbable moment.

"So," Elrohir said a few minutes later, "does this mean you are no longer angry with me?"

The innocence on his face made Jeren smile even wider. "Elrohir, I don't think I'll ever be able to say that, at least not for long. But for now, I'm no longer angry with you—but that is speaking only for this moment."

They sat there together in silence for a while, then Jeren glanced up at him. He was staring at her, and in a most discomfiting way.

"What is it?" she wanted to know. "Do I have soup on my face?"

"No," he replied, "I was just thinking of something Elladan told me this afternoon."

"Well, if it was about me, it was bound to be something waspish. I am not among his most favored people at present."

He thought about that for a moment, then asked, "Tell me, Jeren, do you feel about him as you felt before? Do you still love him, as you've been saying for years?"

"What does this have to do with what he was telling you this afternoon, Elrohir?" she asked with growing alarm. She sat up and frowned. "What did he say?"

Aware that he may have just opened a subject he did not intend to open, Elrohir decided to go with the least damning thing that he knew.

"He did not _need_ to tell me anything; I have two good eyes, and I saw him kissing you the day you freed me from the Orcs. I asked him what his intentions were toward you."

"And?" she wanted to know. When it was apparent Elrohir wasn't going to elaborate, she prompted, "What did he say?"

"I am not free to reveal a confidence." There. That seemed noncommittal enough.

She stared at him for a few moments, then her eyes widened as if something dire had just occurred to her. "He didn't tell you!"

"He didn't tell me what?" Elrohir tried very hard to keep his face neutral. Inside, he was beginning to sweat.

Her cheeks flamed and she dropped her face into her hands, embarrassed at the turn of the conversation. She looked at him again, then closed her eyes, her head falling back against the pillows. "I cannot believe he told you." She got up from the bed and began pacing the room. "I would have thought that it would have been secret—just between the two of us. At least, that was how I was treating it."

"You forget, Jeren," Elrohir said, trying to ease her concern, "it is hard sometimes to keep secrets when you have a mind connection with someone."

The minute he'd uttered that remark, he could read on her face that it was exactly the wrong thing to say. Instead of lessening her fears, he'd only increased them.

Her blush drained, and her eyes widened even more than before. Elrohir thought she might faint.

"How much can you discern from his mind, Elrohir?"

He shook his head, holding up his hands. "He stays well guarded, most of the time, Jeren. I truly do not know the details." He wished fervently that he'd never broached this topic at all.

She climbed onto the bed again, relaxing against the headboard. "I cannot believe he told you," she said again, almost whispering.

"He didn't actually tell me anything, Jeren," Elrohir admitted. "He said that you did 'one thing and then another' until I knew pretty much what the two of you had done. No details. I promise." He circled her shoulders with his arm again, pulling her close. "It makes no difference, as long as you are not hurt by it, and it certainly seems as if you aren't." He searched her face, trying to glimpse a hint of her feelings. "That is why I asked the question to start with. Elladan thought you truly did not remember, but I wasn't as sure about that as he seemed to be."

"When I woke up in my bed the following morning, I thought it might have been a dream," Jeren confessed. "But I knew in my heart it was not. I'd been a little tipsy, you see." She stopped, looked at Elrohir, and then looked away. "No, I was just plain drunk. I suppose drink makes me bold, because I all but threw myself at him. I was a little surprised he didn't throw me out of his room." She glanced at Elrohir from the corners of her eyes. "And I suppose I used a few dirty tricks to ensnare him."

"Dirty tricks?" Elrohir asked her.

"Never mind," she said. "Elladan left for the stronghold the next morning, before I'd even risen, so I could not approach him even had I considered to. I thought his behavior churlish at first, but on considering it, my behavior was not exactly sterling."

"Not churlish, Jeren," Elrohir said quietly. "Merely confused, and if I were to bet on such things, and a little ashamed for allowing himself to love you in that way—not having better control of himself, for your sake. Elves treat physical union between friends as pleasant diversion, not usually a serious event; he might have been afraid you would not see it as he did." He thought for a moment and added, "Perhaps gutless would be the better word." Jeren smiled at Elrohir's attempt to lighten the subject.

They sat there together and neither said anything for a little while. Then Jeren said, in all seriousness, "Perhaps I need lessons in holding my drink."

Elrohir wanted to laugh, but hearing the earnestness in her voice, decided against it. "I think holding one's spirits is something that cannot be learned. You either can, or you cannot."

Jeren was quiet for a few minutes. Then she said, "I really haven't explored how I feel about Elladan since that night. I know I still love him, and that was your original question."

Jeren pulled the linen up into her lap, and smoothed the coverlet on top. "You know, Elrohir," she said softly, "I had been afraid of it—physical union, as you call it. My only experience had been hideous, and I feared I would be so damaged—both physically and in my mind—that I would not be—_able_, if you know what I mean." Elrohir touched her face, to get her to look at him, yet he didn't say anything. "But," she continued, "that night with Elladan was magical. He was very sweet with me. It was what I wanted and it was everything I had dreamed it would be." He smiled at her, glad that his brother had done right by her, even if he hadn't done, in Elrohir's view, exactly the right thing.

"Well, 'tis over and done," Elrohir said with a sigh. "I think perhaps your feelings for Elladan might have calmed somewhat. There was a time that you would not have felt such restraint as you do right now. You might have shouted this particular news from the rooftop."

Laughing, Jeren elbowed him in the ribs. "I never would have done such a thing!" She looked at him, smiled facetiously, then said, "Well, not from the rooftop, anyway."

Jeren was glad she'd relented and allowed Elrohir to talk to her. Very glad they'd had this discussion. It had been just what she needed to distract her from sorrow.

She loved him so much. With Elrohir near, who could stay sad for long?

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**


	8. The Plans

Chapter 8: The Plans

"Absolutely not!"

Elrond was emphatic about the 'plan' that Elrohir and Aragorn were preparing for Jeren. "She has been through enough at present. You cannot do this to her. I will not be a party to this thing."

Aragorn and a contingent of rangers from the stronghold had come to Imladris for the rites in honor of Anardil's death. Today he would be buried in Rivendell's cemetery, where Dunedain, who had no other family or were otherwise significant to Elrond were buried. Elrond had had Jennah's remains moved here several years ago. The family cabin, where Jeren's mother had been buried, held nothing but ill memories for the girl. Elrond and the twins had known Jennah, and they could not in good conscience leave her body there, unattended and alone. Now Anardil would join his wife in Imladris.

"But Father," Elrohir said, "we are _doing_ nothing to her. If anything, we will give her what she wants most—to experience what being a ranger truly means. You know that she is hard headed to a fault, and it is going to get her in much trouble at some point. She's been lucky so far. Who's to say when her luck will run out? She has lessons to learn that we can teach her, but that to merely tell her of will do no good. She must learn on her own, if the message is to hold any meaning to her. And if all goes to plan, she will give up the idea of joining the rangers of her own accord."

"But _now_, Elrohir?" Elrond wanted to know. "She's just lost her father. It has been a tremendous blow to her. She's not at her best at present, and to take advantage of that is not honorable. Again, I cannot be a party to this plan."

"Perhaps the timing might have been better, but if not now, when? She's wanted this for years, Father. You know it is true."

Elrond paced the room, going to the window and gazing out over the valley, but not really seeing it at all. Turning back to his sons he said, "Do not come to me when she aces your tests and challenges, and you have no recourse than to welcome her as a ranger. I do not share the opinion that she will give up on the idea, as you say. This _plan_ of yours will fail—and it is the two of you who will be taught a lesson."

"It will not come to that," Aragorn said. "She will go only with the understanding that this is an invitation to visit and get to know her kin. There is no chance she will become a ranger, and I will tell her exactly that."

"Then why would she agree to go at all?" Elrond asked. "I know she is willful, but she is not stupid!"

"She is much like Anardil—perhaps even more stubborn than he. She may believe that being among the rangers might give her the edge she needs to be accepted. We know that it is not the case, but to Jeren, it is still possible, if only she works hard enough. Yet if she refuses my invitation, then it will be up to you and Glorfindel to see to it that she is educated in following orders, and not just doing as she will. She is putting her life at risk to achieve her goals, and _I_ cannot be a party to that." Aragorn's gaze challenged his foster father to refute his words.

"I believed her to be educated in this," Elrond said, returning Aragorn's stare. "Glorfindel never had any difficulty with getting her to do as ordered. Perhaps it is just _men_ that she has problems understanding."

Aragorn's temper threatened to flair, but in deference to Elrond, he held it in check. His jaw worked as he silently clenched his teeth. Before Aragorn could speak, Elrond added, "I do not want her doing battle with Orcs any more than the two of you do. What prompts this—this—plan?"

"She joined in one of our battles—with us unaware of it—a few days ago," Aragorn said. "This was sheer lunacy. It could have gone very ill for her—as it did for all but one of the rangers involved in that debacle. I believe it to be an attempt on her part to exhibit for us—for me—that she is fully capable of handling herself in battle. Yet all it shows me is that she is a rebel and will do as she will, no matter the consequences."

"And just this one show of fortitude has you both up in arms?" Elrond asked. "There has to be more to it. What else has she done that has you so alarmed—that convinces you that she does not know how to follow orders?"

Elrohir had hoped his father would accept what they'd told him thus far. He truly did not want to tell Elrond that _he'd _been taken by Orcs, much less that Jeren had come after him—and freed him—alone. Yet that was exactly what he was going to have to do.

As soon as the story was out, Elrond exploded. "And how did you manage to get yourself taken by Orcs, Elrohir? I am finding this tale of yours—and this plan—to be rife with deception. There must be more to the original story than you are letting on."

Aragorn took over the tale. "A mistake was made by a first year ranger which committed them to battling a forty-plus force of Orcs—the ranger strength was but twelve."

Elrond closed his eyes, trying to keep himself from shouting again. Before he had a chance to say anything, Aragorn explained the rest of the battle, including Jeren's part in it. "As soon as the remainder of the Orc force—a dozen strong—went south, taking Elrohir with them, Jeren emerged and took Anardil, Rhyse and Elladan to the place she'd been camping while watching the rangers for days. As if joining in the battle wasn't enough, she defied not only Anardil, but Elladan as well, and went after Elrohir alone to free him. Luckily, the twelve Orcs had split up, leaving her only _five_ to deal with."

"Well," Elrond said, when he was calm enough to speak without raising his voice, "I can see what has you so troubled. I will speak to her. You do not have to resort to your 'plan'.

"Do you truly believe that merely speaking to her will make a difference, Father?" Aragorn asked. "I spoke to her several days before this _mishap _and you see what it got me—nothing but trouble. She came to the stronghold seeking to ask me if she could join with the rangers. I assume you knew that she had set out to do this?"

At Elrond's abrupt nod, Aragorn continued, "I told her that it was impossible. That it could not be. She argued and when I would not be moved she left—alone. Elrohir went after her to no gain. Then she turned up at the battle site."

Now Aragorn paced the room. "If she were a man, I would gladly welcome her as a ranger. From what Elrohir says about her shooting, I am a fool to not want her in our ranks as she is. However, I am only one _man_ in this concern, and even were I to wish her to join us, it is impossible. The men would not stand for it. They would forever consider her a woman, someone to be protected at all costs. And that cost could be valuable lives in a battle. Perhaps even her own, if she keeps up with this notion she has of becoming a ranger."

Elrond's shoulders slumped just the slightest bit, but to his sons, he seemed smaller of a sudden. That he cared for this girl they discussed was a huge understatement, and it was becoming so much clearer in their eyes than it had been before.

"You will have to let her go sooner or later," Elrohir said quietly. "She will not stand to be held by you or anyone. I would rather that you watched over her than us, but honestly, I do not think she will permit anyone to watch over her at all. And that may be her downfall, finally." He reached out and touched Elrond's sleeve briefly, then let his hand fall. "She is going to get herself hurt again—or worse—if something is not done to rein her in."

"Given everything you've told me," Elrond acknowledged, "you are right about that. But to trick her—I cannot do it. Do not ask it of me."

"All will be told," Aragorn said. "I have no intention of using any trickery."

"Yet you understand her and how she will react. You must see that you are setting a trap for her, just as one would set a snare for a rabbit. You know she will seize your enticement."

"Yes, knowing Jeren as I have come to, I know she will demand more than a mere visit. She will want to participate. Yet the only one who may stoop to deceit to gain her objectives may be Jeren, herself."

Elrond heaved a deep sigh. "Very well. 'Tis not with my blessing. You both know I want her here."

"Even were she to stay here, Father," Elrohir said, "what would she do? What work would you give her? She'll not be content to be idle. Would you have her join with Glorfindel and Imladris' force?"

"Of course I would not," Elrond said as if he were speaking to someone dense. He paused, and then in a much softer voice, said, "T'was a mistake, I suppose, to allow her training at all; yet we could not have kept her defenseless after the attack she endured. I let it go on for far too long. I'd hoped I could dissuade her over time, but her growing talent with weapons just fed her need to do battle. I had not the heart to take it from her at that point."

"What is it about this girl that makes you go soft, Father?" Elrohir brashly asked. "You have never been this easy on any of your children. 'Your will or no will' was what we often said behind your back! We still do, if you want the truth of it."

The look the Elf lord gave to his son could have curdled milk. Elrohir had the grace—or abashment—to look away. As his anger faded, Elrond said tiredly, "I am not her parent, though at times I wish it were so. I obviously have not the experience I need to foster this very young and very Human girl." He stepped to the window again, and said, "You are Jeren's Chieftain, Estel. I cannot stand between you. Do what you will. I want no part of it."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

The rites for Anardil were in the late afternoon, two days after his death. His coffin was a plain, yet beautiful, wooden box—not austere, merely unadorned. There was a small crowd present—Elves and Dunedain rangers—and Jeren. Her face was an expressionless mask.

Elrond himself conducted the rite, along with assists from Aragorn. Rhyse was there, as were Joem, Brid and five other rangers whom Jeren did not know. All were resplendent in their best ranger attire, complete with gray cloaks and the distinguishing star pins they wore on their breasts. Jeren thought they looked splendid.

At the end of the rite, Aragorn approached Jeren. He gave to her Anardil's gray dress cloak on which he'd pinned Anardil's star broach. She closed her eyes, willing no tears to fall. She'd made it this far without them, and was determined to keep them away.

As spades of rich, dark earth were shoveled onto Anardil's coffin, Jeren's eyes remained dry. She was glad her mother was also interred in Rivendell's cemetery. She'd often visited her mother's gravesite here, which was something she never dreamed she'd be able to do again as long as Jennah lay in the yard of their cabin. Now Jeren would visit them both—

Everything was finished in very short order and the mourners filed away—all except Jeren. She could not bear to leave her father there. It made his death too final. She felt completely alone in this world.

After awhile, she felt hands upon her shoulders, and looking up expecting it to be Elrond, was startled to see it was Rhyse. He suddenly seemed to think he'd made some mistake; he moved his hands away as if she stung him. But he did not leave. He stood there with her. Finally, he looked at her and to her shock, there were tears in his eyes, although he wasn't weeping.

"He was my sergeant for more than a year," he said in explanation. "He was a good man. He taught me much. I will miss him greatly."

She nodded her agreement, then turned and they strode together on the long walk back to the house.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Jeren surprised them all when she turned down Aragorn's offer. Everyone was gathered in the library that night after evening meal, including the rangers. Estel tendered his invitation, and Jeren politely declined. It was apparent to all that she was despondent over the loss of Anardil.

Elrond breathed a sigh of relief. He'd not wanted her hurt by what he saw as the deception of at least two of his sons. She was taking time to mourn her father, and that could only be a good thing. Were his sons successful in luring her to the stronghold under what he considered false pretenses, she needed to be in top form. Time was definitely on her side in this.

Elrond had noticed the distinct absence of Elladan. He'd been at the rite that afternoon, but had all but vanished soon afterward. He'd not been at evening meal, nor was he here with them in the library. Estel and the other rangers would be leaving sometime tomorrow, and it was unlike this son to not enjoy the company of his Human brother. Elrond reminded himself to investigate this newest development with Elladan. For whatever reason, things were amiss within his family, and he wanted to know why.

Jeren finally pleaded exhaustion and left the group in the library. But she did not go upstairs to her room. She went to the stables to visit Two. The horse nickered softly as Jeren entered the stall, and politely accepted the apple that Jeren had brought with her. Jeren took the bridle and reins from the nail where they were always kept and slid the bit between Two's teeth as soon as the mare finished eating the fruit. Jeren didn't bother with the saddle this time; bareback made the ride even more freeing.

Riding was always a welcome respite whenever Jeren was bothered by something. And, except for her mother's death years ago, she'd not been bothered by anything as much as she was by Anardil's death. Oh yes, the Orc attack had been horrendous. But Jeren had been broken and ill for quite some time afterward—not in any condition to ride, so she couldn't use this remedy while in the throes of her deepest anguish. By the time she began riding, that inner pain was bearable, thanks to Elrond's healing power. But now, with Anardil's dying breaths still echoing in her head, Jeren needed to be away on Two.

The moon was waxing toward full, so Jeren could see as well as she needed to. She headed for the pond where she'd sat with Elrond two days ago. It wasn't far, so she had Two up to a full gallop the entire trip. Jeren felt the wind whistling past her ears, and her braid flew behind her.

As Jeren got closer to the pond, she realized she wasn't the only person who sought solace here tonight. Since she'd left Elrohir with the others in Elrond's study, this must be Elladan, sitting on the bank, skipping stones across the pond's glittering surface.

She slid off Two, leaving the horse to graze. Elladan's stallion was standing there, so Jeren skimmed her hand over his neck as she passed. He had neither bridle nor saddle on him, as Elves usually preferred to ride. Elladan looked up as she approached. He was beautiful in the moonlight, that faint Elven glow illuminating him where he sat.

"Jeren," he said in greeting. That was all—just her name.

She sat next to him, and feeling bold, leant toward him as if to kiss his cheek. He turned his face away from her. _Valar, but this hurts,_ she thought.

"So I guess you meant it when you said we'd no longer even be friends if I left you and sought Elrohir alone. And I suppose we'll also never be lovers again, in that case, either."

She saw that she'd shocked him, with her mention of their night together. But he recovered quickly.

"That was a mistake, Jeren. I hope you will forgive me for taking advantage of you."

She smiled. "That isn't how I remember it." She looked at him sideways, out of the corners of her eyes. "I think it may have been the other way around."

He shot her a look and she wasn't sure what it meant. Could be that he'd taken offense to her description and it wasn't virile for it to be thought that a woman could take advantage of a male. But he didn't say one way or the other.

As was her way, she got directly to the point of the matter. "Elladan after what we've shared, can you still say that you do not love me?"

"I can say that," he answered immediately. A few moments later he added softly, "but I also cannot say it."

Confused, Jeren wanted to strike him. Scream at him! But she only said, "What do you mean, Elladan?"

He finally looked at her. "What I mean is that there will never be an 'us', Jeren. We will never be together. That night was a mistake for both of us, and from now on, I will keep my distance from you. I wish you to do the same." While his words seemed harsh, his voice was sad.

With that, he got up and hopped onto his horse, riding off back toward the stables and home.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Jeren didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Funny, she felt like doing neither. It was utter confusion she felt, and that is not a laughing or crying sort of feeling at all. She sat in the moonlight thinking about what Elladan had said. It was all pretty final. This was one dream that she must consider giving up on. It was one thing to be persistent in the hopes of achieving one's goals. It was another to be stupid when there was no chance that that goal was achievable.

As she sat there, though, she realized it wouldn't be that easy. While her head was telling her to forget about Elladan, as he obviously wanted her to, her heart was breaking. She now understood that to share your body with someone made you love them more. It didn't somehow quench the thirst you had for the one you had your heart set on—it made you thirstier.

She heard hoof beats and she tensed. Her heart hoped it was Elladan again, reconsidering what he'd told her before he'd left. But her head doubted it. He'd been very direct. He'd not stuttered or faltered when he told her they would never be together.

She turned to see whom it was that had broken in on her misery. Of all people—it was Rhyse. She wondered if he'd simply been looking for quiet or if he'd purposely come to find her. There was one way to find out—she would ask him. Perhaps he'd go away if she weren't so friendly.

He called her name as he approached her on foot. She looked at him as he stood next to her, but she did not return his greeting.

"Are you lost?" she asked, a distinct edge to her voice.

He chuckled. "No, I'm not lost," he told her. "There was somewhat of a hue and cry when you were checked upon before Lord Elrond retired; I volunteered to come look for you. He's waiting for you in his study."

She did not move to get up. It would be too much effort, even though she knew it was Elrond who awaited her. She felt bad for being such a witch to Rhyse before he'd even had a chance to tell her why he'd come. So in her most contrite voice, she asked, "Would you be so kind as to go back and tell him I am sitting in the moonlight, and would very much like to continue for awhile? I will be along soon, but ask him to please, not wait for me. I am fine. I'm merely mourning. And he knows I would do that best under a night sky."

Rhyse bowed his head in farewell, but didn't offer her any more words. Relieved, she heaved a big sigh. _Now where was I when I was so rudely interrupted?_

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Twenty minutes later found Jeren still on the banks of the pond. She'd lain back in the grass, gazing up into the sky. Of all the sights on Middle Earth that she'd seen so far—and she admitted to herself there weren't many—the night sky was the most lovely. Rivendell was certainly a sight to behold, that was true, and sunrises and sunsets each had their places, but the moon and stars were on the top of her list of things most beautiful.

And it was into these thoughts—which weren't thoughts much at all—that hoof beats again intruded. She fervently hoped Lord Elrond had not been concerned enough about her to come out himself. She would never want to put him to so much trouble.

She rose up on her elbows and craned her neck to see who it was. Rhyse—again. She decided she'd at least hear him out this time before she got out her broom, as it were. She lay back in the grass once more.

She could hear him dismount and say something to his horse. She heard his footsteps as he approached. She listened as he stopped beside her, probably trying to decide how to approach her this time. And then he sat down.

She waited for him to speak, but he did not. So she finally asked, "Have you a message for me?"

"Not really," he answered, but said nothing more. His voice was deep, almost raspy. Somewhat like her father's had been. She wondered if he was purposely trying to make her angry. Because whether it was purposeful or not, he was succeeding.

"So—why are you here?" she asked him bluntly.

"I was told to stay with you until you came back to the house," he replied. "When the Chieftain himself gives an order, it isn't denied by a ranger."

Jeren let out a breath. _Men!_ _She'd never understand them if she had centuries to try._ She was within the borders of Rivendell. What possible harm could she come to?

"No," she said testily. "Lord Elrond—what did he say?"

"He said 'very well' and nothing more."

Jeren laid her head back and closed her eyes. She supposed this man was just obtuse as a rule. She really did not know him. The first time she'd seen him was after the battle, when she'd had a short while to study him. She supposed he was handsome, if she noticed such things about men. He had thick, straight black hair and his eyes were the silver gray of the Dunedain. His brows were even, without much arch. His eyes had a downward turn at their outside corners. His nose was straight, his nostrils slightly flared. His face was oval—no square jaw or chin on him, and his skin was brown from years in the wild. Yes, she supposed he was handsome, as these things went.

It had been so quiet that Jeren was startled when Rhyse finally spoke. "You know, we—your father and I—came to Rivendell often during the past year or so that we rode together."

Jeren sat up and looked at him then. "Often? Why was I not aware of the fact, then?" She was trying not to be angry with Anardil all over again for his neglect of her. But if he'd been to Rivendell often, why had he not sought her out every time? Why had not Lord Elrond told of his visits? She could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times she'd seen him while she'd lived in Imladris. Not even once a year. She could feel the hurt rebuilding in her heart.

"Sometimes we had to ride immediately back with an answer to a message from Aragorn," he told her. "And sometimes you were away on a survival drill. But other times, he merely did not want to disturb your training, although we watched it from a distance. He was extremely proud of you, you know."

"Well, he certainly fooled me." She hated the petulant sound of her voice.

"He was proud of you, but he feared for you more."

"Feared for me?" she asked doubtfully. "If anything, proficiency with weapons would make one less fearful, not more."

"I suppose he was afraid you'd want to put that training to use. You were his daughter—not his son."

"What difference does that make?" she asked, sitting up straighter. "A daughter who can protect herself is much better off than one who cannot."

"T'was different in his eyes—that's all I know."

"And what about in your eyes, Rhyse? How do you feel about a daughter who can not only protect herself, but others, as well?" Rhyse was, after all, a ranger of the Dunedain. His opinion could enlighten her as to what she was up against in her fight to win a place amongst them.

"Me?" he asked. "I've not thought much about it, I suppose, since I have no daughters on which to base an opinion."

"What a smooth answer, when one doesn't wish to upset the person who is asking the question." She couldn't keep the sarcastic tone out of her voice. She'd always been a person who spoke her mind, but exposure to Elrohir over the years had perfected this particular quality in her speech.

He looked at her then, and she could see his wide smile in the moonlight. She wished to slap it off his face at the moment.

But his reply caught her off guard. "Well if the one asking the question would get to the meat of the question, perhaps one might answer more directly." So he was quite capable of sarcasm too.

"What do you mean?"

"I believe there's something else you want to know. Ask directly, and I will answer the same way."

"All right, then," she conceded, "what do you think of my wanting to join with the rangers?" She could not be more direct than that.

He did not mince words. "After seeing you train I would say you'd be an asset to the company. And Elrohir has sung your praises as a bowman in my hearing. His esteem is not lightly given." Jeren started to speak, but he wasn't finished. "However, my opinion is but one. There are many, many more that have the opposite view. Much more than a mere majority. Even if Lord Aragorn would want you admitted, the system, being majority-ruled, would not permit it."

Jeren had not seen Rhyse in the hall when she'd asked Aragorn if he would consider her for a ranger, but his answer now told her that he most likely was. Either that, or the settlement had been rife with gossip after she left, for him to have answered her question so succinctly. It was apparent to her that he had been considering it.

They were both quiet for some time. Jeren sat there thinking of ways to turn the majority's opinion toward letting her in. Rhyse was thinking of something completely different.

After a lengthy silence, he spoke again. "The other day, after you left the campsite, I had occasion to ask your father something that I'd wanted to ask him since the moment I first saw you on the training field." He hesitated only slightly, then continued, "Elladan and Elrohir had worked on his wound most heinously, and the pain was great when they finished. So I tried to distract him with conversation. I asked him would he allow me to court you."

Jeren's jaw almost dropped open, so unexpected was this remark. She barked out a laugh. "And what was his answer, pray tell?—No wait! I know what it had to have been." In her best Anaradil impression, she deepened her voice and said, "If you can find a woman beneath all those weapons, son, then you have my blessin'!"

Rhyse chuckled at her and said, "That's not far from the mark. But in the end, he _did_ give me his blessing."

Jeren could tell Rhyse was serious, and she was anything but serious when it came to having a suitor. She never even gave it any thought, as determined as she'd been about Elladan. Even after what he'd told her tonight, where her heart was concerned, she still wouldn't be thinking of courting anyone else.

She started to tell Rhyse that she had no time at present to give courting much room in her life. But she thought before she spoke. He'd already told her he'd not be against her joining the rangers, if she could somehow manage it. It would be to her good to have all the friends she could in this endeavor. If he would sing her praises to others, before long, more opinions could be swayed. And even if she weren't as serious as he was about this courting thing, it would do no harm to let him think what he would.

"As you already know, Rhyse," she said, "I am not a traditional woman. I'm not sure what your courting me would entail."

"I only wish to get to know you better, when I come calling at Rivendell. I heard you decline Aragorn's invitation to come to the stronghold. I'd wished it were a different answer. If you were there, we would see each other more."

This had Jeren thinking. Perhaps going to the stronghold might be just the diversion she needed to stop mourning her father. She desperately hated this melancholy she found herself in. She would think on it some more—mayhap she would reconsider. She had nothing to lose and everything to gain.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**A/N: First of all, I want to thank Frieda for her kind review. I appreciate any and all feedback. **

**Next, I want to let you know that I was reading through this story last night-as published on -and realized that somehow I had accidentally posted a second or third draft of Chapter 3. I hadn't posted the chapter's final draft, as I had intended it to read. There weren't a lot of changes-only in the way Jeren searched for Elrohir and also that she ditched the saddle so that they could both ride on the one horse they had to escape on. I'm a little surprised that an alert reader didn't point it out to me in chapter 4 that they suddenly didn't have a saddle any longer! Sorry for the confusion. I have a very OLD version of Microsoft Word (2000) and it sometimes glitches when I go to save on my computer that has Windows 7. It will save the old draft instead of what I've been diligently working on for hours sometimes. Very frustrating.**

**So I've fixed Chapter 3 and re-posted it. I will continue to read through the story as it has been published, to see if I've done that on any of the other chapters.**


	9. The Advisements

Chapter 9: The Advisements

It was very late, but Elladan saw there was light still coming from under his father's study door. He softly knocked and was told to enter.

Elrond looked up from the parchment on his desk, his quill poised above the paper. Seeing that it was Elladan, he placed the quill aside and stood. Something of importance troubled this son—Elrond could see it plainly on his face.

"Elladan," he said in greeting, "You were missed this evening. Is all well?"

"Well enough, Father," Elladan replied. "I merely wondered did you have any message for my grandparents. I thought to visit Lothlorien soon."

"Soon?" Elrond asked him.

"I was planning to leave on the morrow."

"Is your brother going, too?" Elrond thought this was probably an inane question. One twin rarely ventured very far away from the other.

"I've not asked him."

"That is somewhat unusual, is it not?"

"I suppose I'm highly predictable, most times, but—" He paused. He truly wished he could tell his father his problems, but he didn't think he dared. His heart was troubled, but Elladan thought the better advice would come from those not quite so close to him. And he feared Elrond's reaction should he tell him of his uncertainty about Jeren.

"But?" Elrond prompted. He knew this mood of his son—too harsh and Elladan would flee like startled prey.

"But nothing. I've just now made up my mind about the trip. I've not seen Elrohir to ask him. I suppose he will join me."

Deciding this superficial conversation had gone on long enough, Elrond determined to risk his son's flight by confronting the real issue.

"Elladan," he said quietly, "you know you need not go haring off to Lothlorien to get answers to your cares. You have a father here who would listen, but you just tell him your trouble."

Elladan bowed his head for a moment, then looked up at Elrond. "I know that, but I'm uncertain that you can be objective about this particular problem."

Elrond stood before his son and looked him in the eyes, making sure his point got taken. "If something concerns you this much, I will listen and not judge. I want to help you, but you must trust me."

Elrond could see the war going on in Elladan's eyes. He almost dreaded what his son might tell him, if he relented and revealed what was on his mind.

"Jeren has been in my bed." Elladan walked away from his father, then turned back and added, "Only once. But that was enough."

Elrond could feel his anger rising. He'd made it abundantly clear to all his children the consequences of such relationships. But he'd promised Elladan that he could trust him. He'd not go back on his word. "When was this?" he asked. "And what prompted it?"

"A few months ago," Elladan said, almost impatiently. "What has that to do with anything?"

"I merely wondered how long this has been weighing on you," Elrond said with more calm than he truly felt, trying to diffuse the situation. "That is all. And how the event may have occurred could have bearing on what advice I might give."

Elladan picked up the quill off the desk and turned it over in his fingers, as if examining it. "We were having a glass of wine in my room and she drank most of the bottle." Then he added, as if in defense, "She's often been there with nothing untoward happening." He replaced the quill on the desk.

"Oh not that Old Winyard from the Shire," Elrond said with a grimace, as if that might explain everything neatly.

Elladan laughed shortly. "No, not the Old Winyard. I think Jeren cannot handle any spirits no matter their strength." Then he thought of tonight's conversation he'd had with her and added, "Yet I'm not sure she was as inebriated as she let on."

"You think she may have set out to ensnare you?"

"I thought not at the time," Elladan said, "but after speaking with her tonight, something she said has made me wonder."

"It matters not," Elrond admitted. "What matters is how you feel about it now." He knew this was indeed the heart of the issue.

Elladan looked into his father's eyes. "That is the problem. I don't know how I feel. It used to be very plain to me—Jeren was a friend and that was all. Now, I find myself wanting to be with her." He then added quickly, "—not just in bed. If that were all, this would be easier to resolve."

"You're afraid your love for her has grown to be more than just as a friend," Elrond stated.

Elladan nodded but did not say anything.

Elrond knew he'd been right to fear what Elladan would tell him. This was the worst possible news. Elladan's heritage, being what it was—laden with one very big choice—would make such a dilemma monumental in his son's eyes. Indeed, in the father's eyes, perhaps even more so.

"Well, you are right about one thing—distance and time away—or perhaps other diversions—could be the solution to your problem," Elrond said. "I certainly hope you can resolve this in the prudent fashion. And we both know what that would be."

"What worries me," Elladan admitted. "is that I've felt this way before, just not about a woman—it has always been Elleths in the past. And it's never gone beyond mild infatuation. Could be that's all this is."

"Could be." Elrond said. "I truly wish there were something I could do for you other than listen. But you are grown and only you can handle your affairs now."

Elrond turned down the wick on the lamp until it went out, and then he joined his son, putting his arm around his shoulders. They walked out the door.

"I feared you would take Jeren's side in this," Elladan said.

"Is there a side to take, Elladan?" his father asked him. "I fear you both will be hurt by this, should it continue."

"Well it is hard not to notice that you dote on her," Elladan said.

"You are my son. Nothing is more important to me. You must know that. I hope you make every effort to not let this happen again with Jeren. It would only seal your fate. She is very easy to love."

As they walked down the hallway, Elrond asked, "So, will you be leaving on the morrow?"

Elladan looked at his father. "I think you've made the trip unnecessary." He gave Elrond a half smile. "Thank you, Ada," he said.

Elrond had not heard that particular endearment for a very long time. It warmed his heart.

They continued their walk down the darkened hallway.

Yet with every step he took, Elrond's heart grew colder with worry.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Jeren and Rhyse went back to the house, taking their horses to the stables first, where they bid each other good night. She left him with no sure answer about whether she would allow him to court her or not. The more she considered the idea—at least in theory, if not in the actual doing of it—the more she liked it. She hated the thought that she might lead Rhyse on. He was a nice enough fellow, and he did not deserve to be deceived. But she had no interest in him as a man or a suitor. What she did care about was having him on her side when it came to her becoming a ranger. If she had a pawn inside the group—one that could sing her praises as a dependable warrior—perhaps the others could finally be swayed. She shook her head, not believing the depths she apparently would stoop to, just to get her way in this.

It was with these thoughts swimming in her head that she came to the door of her room. Just before she turned the knob to let herself in, she glimpsed Elrond out of the corner of her eye, standing outside his bedchamber door.

She stifled a gasp, but in a quiet enough voice she said, "You scared me!"

"I am sorry, child," he replied. "But I heard your footsteps approaching, so I waited for you. I would very much like to speak to you, if you are not too tired."

"Of course," she said, and admitted him before her into her room. Lamps were already lit—courtesy of Naith, or perhaps Daeron. They went out onto the veranda, seating themselves at the table there.

"I will get to my point. 'Tis been a long day and a hard one for you, and I truly do not wish to stress you more. This is a subject that will bring neither of us much joy, but it is necessarily discussed. I've spoken to Elladan, and he has told me that the two of you have been—close, shall we say."

"Lord Elrond—" Jeren gasped, her face beginning to redden.

He held up a hand for her silence. "I'm not here to condemn you, nor judge my son, Jeren. I'm here to caution you. There are things of which you are not aware. I would have you fully informed." He sat back in his chair and looked at her, his face as solemn and sad as Jeren had ever seen it. "I'm assuming you do not know this, so stop me if you do. I know the two of us have never discussed it, but you may have spoken to the twins about it."

He got up from his chair and moved to the railing, but he leaned against it, turning back to face her. "I am what is called a Peredhil in my language—half Elven in yours. My father was Human, my mother Elf kind." He paused for a moment, and since she did not stop him or otherwise indicate that she had heard this tale before, he continued. "At the end of the first age, I and my brother Elros, who was my only sibling, were granted the gift of deciding which race to which we would ultimately belong—the Elves or Humans. My brother chose to live as Human, and he lived for over 500 years. Very long for a Mortal—but a very short life when compared to an Elf's. There isn't a day that I do not miss him being here."

Elrond walked back to the table and sat again. "My children have also been granted this gift. I say it is a gift, but at times I curse it, especially as their father. Were it _my_ choice, they would decide to be Elf kind. I, however, do not know their minds or how they might ultimately choose. I suppose that is why I have always cautioned them to not become seriously involved with Mortals. I want nothing to tempt them to the 'other side'.

"If my children choose to live _with_ Humans, _as_ Humans, their lives will be finite. I will go on as I always have—but without them, if that is the path they choose. Their time with me will be short—too short. It breaks my heart to think of living without any one of them." The profound sadness in Elrond's voice, as well as on his face, made Jeren feel like weeping again.

He got up from his chair and looked down at her. "I wanted you to know these things; I told you it was so that you were fully informed, and I truly do not want you hurt. Yet I know as the words are leaving my mouth that I tell you this because I am selfish at heart. I thought that perhaps knowing this might turn you away in your quest for Elladan's love. I would never lose him to death, could I help it. I am sorry." His voice had trailed off, until he was all but whispering.

Jeren did not know what to say, so she remained silent. Elrond kissed the top of her head and left the room.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Jeren tossed in her bed, thumping her pillow for the tenth time. Even though she was desperately tired, she could not sleep. Elrond's words kept tumbling around in her restless mind.

Her emotions had hit all possible points—from being contrite, to being furious, to being confused as to what to do. When she thought about Elrond, and how kind he'd been to her, how much he'd done for her, she was sorry that she would have ever put him through this pain. She was angry that up till now no one had told her of this choice the children of Elrond confronted, and what that meant to all involved. And now that she knew, what would she do about it?

She'd known since she'd first confessed her love to Elladan that a relationship between Elves and Mortals was fraught with difficulty. Yet she'd consciously avoided thinking about that. It seemed irrelevant, when the difficulties would be years and years away in the future. She lived in the present, when none of these things yet mattered to her.

Although she tried telling herself again that these things that were so worrisome were years and years in the future—let them happen when they happened—she could no longer bury her head in the sand. Lord Elrond was a flesh and blood being—someone she loved. She had to think of these things for his sake. Lord Elrond's quiet plea—for her to leave Elladan alone—had not fallen on deaf ears. He would suffer terribly, were Elladan to decide to love her, and she would not hurt him for anything.

Then she had a terrible thought. Elladan and Elrohir were twins. They did everything together. They had a mind connection. No two beings she'd known had ever been so closely connected. What one chose in this dilemma, the other would more than likely opt for, too. So if Elladan chose to be with her, Lord Elrond would not only lose one son to death, he'd lose both of them. That was completely unfair.

She thought about Rhyse and what he'd asked her tonight. She'd had her heart set on Elladan for so long, she wondered if she could ever find love with another. If only she did not know of this choice—and what it meant to the Elf lord—she could go on loving his son.

But she was deceiving herself.

After her conversation with Elladan this evening, she knew her love for him was in vain. Yet even hearing him say they had no future had not changed her deep love of him. Lord Elrond's desperate appeal left her knowing one sure fact: she could no longer pursue her dream of having Elladan as her own.

She tossed to her other side again, pulling the pillow from beneath her head and hugging it to her breast. How was she to forget Elladan and all he meant to her? How? She'd loved him for over seven years. That is not something that would just go away, no matter who wished it to.

She thought about Rhyse again. Perhaps he was the answer to all these questions. But how fair was it to him, to use him in order to forget someone else? To allow him to court her when she truly loved another?

And now to the bigger question—how was she to face Elladan every day, all the while trying to get him out of her heart? She could be where he was not, but the trouble with that was he was everywhere she wanted to be—either here in Rivendell or at the Dunedain stronghold with the rangers. No matter what she chose, he'd be there at some point; she couldn't imagine trying to forget her love for him if he was always in her sight.

Then she knew that she had to leave Rivendell, at least for now. She could not face Lord Elrond, either. He'd all but begged her to leave Elladan alone—let him choose to be of the Elves, not of Humans. How could she face Lord Elrond every day, knowing that she loved Elladan and could not fathom—at least at present—_not_ loving him? It was going to take much time—if she could succeed at all—to cut her love for Elladan out of her heart.

For that is what it felt like—that her heart was being sliced and torn asunder.

Well, it had taken hours off her sleep, and it was almost dawn, but she'd thought the problem through. She did not like the answers she'd arrived at, but her alternatives were no good, either. She would accept Aragorn's offer and go to the stronghold. There, she would work as she'd never worked before to be accepted by them, for if she wasn't, she had nowhere else to go.

She fell asleep, hugging her pillow, tears drying on her face.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Jeren had barely closed her eyes to sleep, when the morning light coming through the open windows woke her. She washed and dressed quickly. She had her ears tuned to when Elrond would leave his bedchamber. She must speak with him—soon. This morning.

She finally heard what she'd been waiting for: Elrond's door opening and then closing again softly. He was making his way downstairs. She waited a few heartbeats and then followed. She knew she'd find him in his study. It was where he always was, first thing in the morning, before he broke his fast.

She knocked at the study door when she reached it. She could not falter, nor break down. Her mind was made up. She heard his soft 'enter' and she turned the knob and stepped inside. She closed the door and remained facing it, willing herself not to lose heart.

"Jeren," he said, as if surprised. "I am happy to see you this morning. I feared you might—and with good reason—be angry with me."

She turned around, pasting a smile on her face. "I could never be angry with you for being honest with me, my lord." She approached his desk and sat in the chair opposite his. She could not believe that she'd just witnessed her father's burial yesterday, and here she was about to leave for who knew how long.

This would be the best thing for all. For herself, to leave the mourning behind; for Lord Elrond, that he could be assured she was not paying Elladan her attention; and for Elladan. From the comments made by both Elrohir and Elladan himself, she knew he was confused about how he felt about her—even though he'd not minced words with her the night before. If she was out of his sight, perhaps his heart would ease, and he would again consider her friend and no more. Then all she need do is forget her love for him—that was all. _What could be easier?_

Before she started weeping with these thoughts of hers, she explained herself to Elrond. "I wanted to see you first thing, to let you know that I've decided to accept Aragorn's offer and go to the stronghold to meet my people."

Elrond held up one hand. "Stop right there," he said. He got up from his desk, took her hand and led her to the door. Jeren wondered what he was about, but as they drew nearer to the healing halls, she knew what was on his mind: the cut on her arm, made by the Orc blade.

"I want you to make no hasty plans until I see to this injury. I might not allow you to go, if it is not well enough healed."

He sat her in a chair next to a table and began gathering things he would need. Jeren took off her tunic so that he could see her arm. When he had everything he required, he took up the scissors and cut the bandage. After he'd washed away the poultice, he peered at the wound, for what Jeren thought was much too long.

At last he straightened and told her, "It is very much better today. I think the infection has mostly cleared, although the wound still gapes some." He went to a cabinet and palmed a small pot of salve. He slathered it on the wound generously. He then took up a bandage and wrapped it tightly around her arm.

"Leave this on for at least today. When next you bathe, you may remove it and if the wound still is not closed, have Estel stitch it for you. I think that won't be necessary, though. It is well on its way to recovery."

Jeren knew these actions of Elrond's were merely a stalling tactic. She'd seen him work much faster before, when he wasn't saddened by the fact that the one he was tending was going to leave him.

"Thank you, Lord Elrond," Jeren said. She got up from the chair, all the while fighting back tears. Her life was in such turmoil; she knew not which way to turn. She hoped the way she was going was the right way. "I suppose it is time I was gone. I want them not to leave without me."

She felt as if she were calm and collected, but something in her face must have given her away. Elrond pulled her into his embrace. He held her thusly for how long, she couldn't tell. She was too busy trying to keep herself from weeping uncontrollably.

He finally held her away from him, but kept his hands on her arms. His eyes sparkled with tears he would not shed. "I do not want you to leave," he told her. "I want you always with me. But I know that, too, is selfish, and I cannot have things both ways. I would thank you, but it seems an empty thing. You are a much better person than I will ever be."

She couldn't help herself; she flung herself back into Elrond's arms and wept desperately. For so many reasons—for being alone in the world with no one to guide her in life; for being so frustrated by everyone who would not give her the chances she needed to prove herself; for being afraid that her love for Elladan would _not_ go away and for devastating Lord Elrond when it didn't. But mostly for being terribly scared that she'd fail at it all.

She did not cry for long. After only minutes she stood up straight and tall and wiped her eyes with her fingers. She sniffed, taking a good, deep breath. Her control was back in seconds. She gave Elrond a small smile.

"I'd better go tend to Two," she said, her voice just slightly tremulous. "Please, do not come see me off; I'd not want a repeat of that performance in front of the others."

He smiled at her. "Very well, dear one. You are my dear one, no matter what we discussed last night. I loved you before I knew you and Elladan had been together, and I love you still. That will never change." He looked into her eyes, the look that he gave when he wanted to make sure the person to whom he was speaking got the message. "You always—always—have a place here, no matter what happens."

Jeren could feel the tears threatening again, so she nodded and smiled. She wiped at her eyes one more time, and then left the room. Elrond made his way back to his study, and stood at the window, which overlooked the valley. He stood there a very long time, until he could see the riders leaving Rivendell, on their way to the stronghold.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**


	10. The Aunt

The Aunt

Jeren and the others had been riding for a couple of hours, when Aragorn called a halt on the far side of the Bruinen. They'd crossed at the usual shallow place, then dismounted to allow their horses to rest. There were nine rangers in all, including Aragorn and Rhyse. Elrohir had come with them, too. Elladan was nowhere to be seen. Jeren wondered if it were a chance happening or something he'd planned all along. Perhaps he'd been told of her going to the stronghold with them and then he decided not to come. It mattered not, however it occurred. She was only glad that it had turned out this way.

As the horses drank their fill, the riders spread out, stretching their legs and drinking from water skins and then refilling them. Jeren found herself annoyed that Rhyse seemed to be attached to her for some reason. He'd ridden beside her all morning and now he stood beside her. She would have to point out to him the error of his ways if this kept up.

She supposed she should take into account that he'd ridden with her father and had obviously admired Anardil. Yet she could not stand to be crowded by anyone. She'd spent most of her childhood with only her mother for companionship—she'd learned early on to like her own company. She did not need or want someone constantly underfoot. If this is what Rhyse considered courting, she definitely did not want any part of it.

Joem and Brid had been at the rites for Anardil in Rivendell, and she noticed now that they spoke to each other and then Joem looked at her as if she were the subject being discussed. The sly smile on Joem's face made her skin crawl. _Never mind_, she thought to herself, _I can take care of the likes of him should he cause me any trouble. _No matter that he was well over six feet tall and likely outweighed her by more than her own weight. On the training fields in Imladris, she'd dealt with Elves that were far stronger than she was, who gave no quarter. Over and over she'd find herself in the dirt, or in some hold she could not escape, until Glorfindel stepped in, showing her how to turn the tables on whoever had overpowered her. Glorfindel was full of tricks for those who were smaller in stature, which was not usually a problem encountered by Elves. She'd thanked him many a time for his advice—especially in hand-to-hand combat. She knew all the vulnerable places on opponents, and if she were pushed, she would not hesitate to abuse them.

They were soon on their way again, and to Jeren's relief, Rhyse chose to ride in a place other than beside her. This was much more to her liking. Perhaps later, if he showed himself to truly be a friend, she would welcome his company, but for now, she wished he would not stick so close.

A few hours past noon, they approached the gates of the settlement. Stone walls surrounded the stronghold. They were erected long ago, in an age when war with Orcs was constantly battled. Jeren hoped those days had not returned, but common thought was that the Orcs' numbers were increasing at alarming rates and that dark power was rising in the south once again. Jeren was prepared, if only the rangers would allow her in.

They rode inside to the greetings of others, welcoming the Chieftain back again.

They all dismounted and led their horses single file into the barn. Each man had a place to stable his horse, so Jeren momentarily wondered what she should do. But Rhyse—ever on watch for her, she supposed—pointed to an empty space.

"T'was where Anardil kept Jasper," Rhyse commented. Jeren thanked him and led Two inside.

As she took the saddle and bridle off Two, Jeren wondered what had become of her father's horse. Jasper had been Anardil's mount for years; Jeren hoped nothing ill had befallen him, since she'd not seen him after the battle she'd helped with—_was it just six days ago? Seemed more like months. _

"He's out in one of the pastures," Elrohir said right beside her ear. "They always come back here, if they are able," he added. Jeren had jumped with startlement at the sudden sound of his voice, since his silent footsteps did not warn her of his approach. She nodded her head in understanding.

Again, she wondered at how he knew what she'd been thinking—Elves supposedly did not read minds. But besides that—how did he know about the horse? Did he think to ask when they came through here the other day? Had he gone out to the pasture to check? She supposed it didn't really matter, but Elves tended to confuse her on the best of days, and this omniscience they seemed to have confounded her.

Aragorn had the luxury of being waited on, and the stable man had taken over his horse immediately. As the Chieftain breezed past her on his way out he said, "Meet me in the alcove when you are finished." She again nodded her understanding.

When she had Two rubbed down and tucked into the stall with a measure of oats to munch on, Jeren made her way into the hall to meet Aragorn. Elrohir was already there and the two of them were bent over the desk, looking at a map spread out on its surface. Aragorn took the parchment and rolled it as soon as he saw her, making her wonder just what place the map had shown.

Aragorn got right to the point. "I will introduce you to your family. You have an aunt and uncle and their four children—your cousins—that live within the walls. Then I will have Rhyse show you around. He will be your superior officer—so to speak—while you are here. He will answer all your questions and _above all_, he will be responsible for you." He had emphasized the 'above all' and Jeren wondered why.

"Why can I not be responsible for myself?" she asked, the pique not disguised in her voice.

"Because I will it," was Aragorn's simple reply. "I want you to understand that you cannot go about doing as you please while you are here. While you are not a ranger, nor a recruit—nor do you have a chance of becoming one—I know you understand discipline and order. Glorfindel demands it, so I know you are used to it. And perhaps your knowing that I hold Rhyse responsible for your actions will tame them some." He came around from behind his desk to stand right before her. "Also, there will be no weapons for you while you are here."

She must have looked incredulous, and was about to say good luck to whoever would try and wrestle her arms from her, but he wasn't finished. "You may keep yours, but if while you are here you attempt to use a weapon—bow, dagger or long knife—in any sort of conflict, unordered by a superior officer, for whatever the reason—you will be disciplined and sent right back to Rivendell. Do I make myself clear?"

Jeren was ready to go right back to Rivendell this instant, she was so angry. But that would not get her what she wanted. She nodded, worried her voice may burst in a shouted tirade if she spoke. But Aragorn was not satisfied.

"Are—we—clear?" he repeated, precisely.

"Yes, my lord," she answered, although with much more control than she felt. If he were indeed going to act as if she was a ranger recruit, although she was supposedly not going to gain any benefit from it at all, then she must play this game with him by the rules as she knew them. And she did know them, thanks to her father's tutelage for quite a bit of her childhood. At least one of her questions had been answered, though: why Rhyse was staying so close. The Chieftain had obviously already given him this assignment.

Jeren glanced at Elrohir while Aragorn went back to his place behind his desk. The Elf's face was impassive, yet something about his mouth made Jeren suspicious. _Was that a suggestion of a smile?_ If she had not known better she might have thought Elrohir knew of these conditions before she did; that perhaps he might have been the one suggesting them! She let that thought slide away, as unworthy of her. Elrohir could be mischievous when he so cared to, but she had no real proof of his involvement in this. Yet she firmly believed that any ill one dealt to another would come back to the dealer ten fold. Elrohir would get what he had coming, if he was the mastermind behind all this.

They all three proceeded outside into the afternoon sunlight, where Jeren took a good look around. She didn't know much about this stronghold, other than where the basics were: the main hall, which housed the dining hall—also used as a meeting room—Aragorn's alcove; the stables, where she'd left Two; and one of the storehouses, where she'd been led to find things she needed on the last trip, before she left for Rivendell. But there were very many other buildings that she did not know. She supposed she would ask Rhyse about them all when she finally was released to him.

They made their way past several structures, some being very small, thatch-roofed cabins. Aragorn turned toward the last one on the left, and knocked at the wooden door. A woman's voice answered. A brisk, "Come in, whoever you are!" wafted through the open window.

Aragorn held the door for Jeren to enter before him. Elrohir came in last, closing the it behind them.

"Oh, 'tis the Chieftain!" a rosy cheeked woman exclaimed. "Welcome, Aragorn! Oh and one of the twins! Come in, come in!" She said this as she wiped her floured hands on her apron. She'd been kneading dough for bread.

"And who is the lass?" she wanted to know, her face beaming, even before Aragorn had a chance to introduce them.

Jeren watched Aragorn and Elrohir—smiling ear to ear at the woman. They were genuinely happy to see her, whatever her name might be.

"This is Jeren, Elenmere," Elrohir told her. "Your sister's daughter."

Elenmere's face lit up more, if that were even possible. She embraced Jeren as if she'd known her all her life, in a breath-stealing hug. After a few seconds, she stood back, holding Jeren at arm's length. "You look exactly like Jennah!" she exclaimed. "I've seen you but twice in your life, Jeren, and both times you were very small—still at the breast."

Jeren was, of course, speechless. Being Anardil's daughter, she wasn't much on words, as he used to say about himself. But for the sake of being polite, she said, "'Tis glad I am to meet you, Elenmere."

"Oh call me Elen! Or better yet Auntie!" Elenmere exclaimed with a big smile. "I've not got another niece—nor nephew, either, for that fact—and I'd just love to hear the title!"

Elen seemed younger than Jeren would have thought she'd be, if she were her mother's sister. So she asked her, "You were the youngest of your siblings?"

"I was!" Elen exclaimed, because it didn't seem she could speak without exclaiming.

Elen had mouse brown hair piled atop her head—though it shone with health and cleanliness. And her cheeks were rosy and round—as was the rest of her—round that is. "Your mother was into her teens before I came along. A surprise I was, in more ways than one!"

The three of them laughed at that. Jeren did not know what to think of this woman. The word 'daft' drifted through her mind.

"Oh! Let me call Jamesica!" Elen said. "That's my daughter." She poked her head out the open window and 'yoo-hooed' for Jamesica louder than Jeren would think the woman even could.

A few minutes later, after Elen had seated them at the kitchen table—with tea and cakes—in tore a little girl with long black hair. She couldn't have been more than seven, in Jeren's estimation.

"Mama, I'm here!" Jamesica held her arms out for a hug.

"And glad I am that you are," Elen said as she embraced her. She turned her daughter toward their company. "Greet the Chieftain, honey."

The little girl smiled and did as she was told. When she spied Elrohir, she bounced into his lap. "Which one are you?" she asked him.

"The handsome one," he told her, tickling her ribs. Jeren smiled. She remembered him saying the same thing to her, right after she'd first met the twin sons of Elrond.

Jamesica laughed and squirmed, trying to stop his hands. "Then I suppose that makes you Elrohir!" she exclaimed between giggles.

Then Elen introduced Jeren to her daughter. "And this is your cousin! Her name is Jeren. You've your very own cousin, don't you know?"

Jamesica's eyes lit up and Jeren could see Elen in her face. Jeren smiled at the child.

"I've never seen a lady in leggings before," Jamesica said quietly, with awed honesty. Elen 'tsked' at her daughter's breach of what Elen deemed polite. Jamesica climbed down from her perch on Elrohir's lap and circled around the table to Jeren.

Jeren smiled back. Truthfulness was a good trait in anyone. "Well, now you have, Jamesica."

"Oh you can call me Jamesie," she said. "Everybody does—except Mama." Jamesie eyed Jeren's clothes and weapons. "And what's this?" the child asked excitedly, as she pointed to Jeren's long knife, sheathed at her waist. "'Tis too short to be a sword." The girl's puzzled frown reminded Jeren of her own.

Jeren explained about her long knife, and was quite surprised that she held the little girl's attention. Her cousin seemed as if she might be a girl after her own heart.

"Now, scat with you, Jamesica," Elen said with a smile. "But don't wander too far—I'll want you to help with supper before long."

Jamesie pursed her lips in a momentary pout. "Oh, must I Mama?" she asked. Yet she did as her mother told her and went outside.

"That girl will be the death of me," Elen said. "She's too interested in outside and swords and bows, for my liking. But then, what can a mother expect when a daughter has three older brothers for teaching her that sort of thing? And that's not mentioning James. That's my husband, Jeren—James."

After a few minutes more of chatting, Aragorn stood and gave their regrets for not being able to stay longer. They left the cabin, walking back to the main hall. Elrohir split off from them, going where, Jeren did not know.

"What do you think of Elen?" Aragorn asked her.

"She seems pleasant enough," Jeren said, "Although I'm not sure there's much future for us having any tight bonds. I think she must disapprove of me."

Aragorn looked at her then, a slight scowl on his face. "And what makes you say that?"

By now they were back in the hall, almost to the alcove.

"Well, you heard her," Jeren declared. "She said her own daughter learning about weapons is not to her liking. How can she think much of me, when it is quite obvious to any who see me that I am a warrior?"

"You could change," Aragorn said, a somewhat uncomfortable expression on his face—almost as if he were waiting for her inevitable explosion.

But the explosion did not come. Instead, standing before Aragorn's desk now, she said, "I believe that may be what this visit is intended for, Lord Aragorn—to change me. To change my mind. And I can tell you now that that will not happen." She sat in one of the chairs in front of the desk. And since Aragorn could tell that she apparently wanted to say something to him, he sat in the one behind it.

"I grew up handling weapons, garbed as I am now. Yes, my mother put dresses on me, but she finally despaired of it and stopped by the time I was ten years old. She was unwilling to put up with my constant whining about how a skirt got in my way. And before you get the wrong impression—she did not disapprove of my father teaching me weapons. Far from it. My mother could shoot a bow, and quite well. She deemed it reckless to live where we did and not know these things. That is why she never discouraged me from learning, or my father from teaching me.

"So if that's what I'm here for—to be hoisted off on poor Elen so that she can show me the error of my ways—you can save yourself some time, Lord Aragorn. Nothing you do toward that end will change me. I've been schooled, indeed I believe I was even bred, for being a warrior. A few days—maybe even weeks—of exposure to 'real women' will not hew that part of me away. It is who I am."

He nodded his head in understanding. He seemed surprised to have heard such a speech from her. Surprised, but Jeren could not tell if he had been moved by her words, until he spoke.

"Then also in the interest of saving time, I hope you understand what I've been telling you since you asked it of me—you will never be a ranger with the Dunedain. No matter if you aim to show us all how well you wield that knife of yours, or your bow—nothing will change that fact. Do you understand me, Jeren?"

"I understand what you are telling me, my lord," she answered. What she did not say is that it did not make any difference to her, one way or another, what he said. She still had to try. Her whole future was at stake, in her estimation.

"Am I dismissed, Lord Aragorn?" she asked him.

He nodded again. "I will send Rhyse to find you soon."

She rose from the chair and made her way outside.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

She'd not been on her own for long when Rhyse ran up beside her. She glanced at his face and was rewarded with his beaming smile. It froze her blood. _He already liked her too well_, she thought. She would have to figure out how to dampen his spirit, or before she knew it, he'd be asking for her hand. And she was not even sure about the courting yet.

He led her down the main street, pointing out the different structures. He showed her the armory, the smithy and the barracks, which housed the unmarried men. The smithy was attached to the stable, so he took her inside. Jeren gave Two a pat as they passed her stall. Rhyse led them up the stairs to the loft.

Jeren wondered about stairs in a barn; she'd ever only seen ladders up to lofts before. But when Rhyse opened a door into a small space, she understood. There was a tiny cell up here.

"This will be your room while you are at the settlement," he told her. He looked anxiously at her face and added, "I could help you clean it in a little while—the dust is somewhat thick." He looked at her sheepishly, and Jeren wondered if he had he ever even used a dust rag before.

"I know it's not much, as far as quarters for ladies go, but it is serviceable. The stable man is married, and lives in one of the cabins with his family, or he'd be up here," Rhyse added.

Jeren wanted to set Rhyse straight—that she did not consider herself a lady—but she was always so prickly to him, she decided to remain silent. She would not gain his confidence, or his vote of approval, if she rebuffed him at every turn.

She glanced around the room and was pleasantly surprised. From what Elrohir had threatened her with at one time, she had expected to bunk with the men. But this was a very nice turn of events, indeed. Her room was small—cozy. The bed was narrow compared to what she'd grown used to in Rivendell, but it was plenty big for one. There was a chest with a little extra linen in the drawers, as well as a cupboard in which to store her things. _Yes, this would do nicely._

They went back outside and walked through the streets, Rhyse greeting people as they went, and introducing her to them if they weren't in a rush to some other place. There was a large warehouse, where extras of everything were kept and where staples were stored. They went by the barracks, where the men lived when not on duty or out in the wild. After passing the small, thatch-roofed houses, they found themselves out in the fields, where the men who were not rangers spent their time and toil growing wheat and corn. Most of the little homes were graced with vegetable gardens, where the families tended to greens, carrots, potatoes, beans and the like, sharing amongst themselves. Groups of women took turns cooking for the dining hall, and they would use what was in their gardens at the time, as well as meat hunted by the men, to feed those eating there.

Rhyse showed her the pastures, where the extra horses, or those resting or recuperating from some ill, were kept. She immediately spied Jasper and whistled the command Anardil always used to call him. She leaned on the fence, reaching through the rails to pat his shoulder when he had come near enough to touch. He looked very good, despite his age of almost eighteen. She gave him one last pat, tracing the white blaze between his eyes, as she sent a thought to her father—_you kept your horse well, Papa._

Next he took her to the training fields, and Jeren gazed longingly at the straw targets. She would love to demonstrate her prowess with her bow, but she'd not been ordered yet to draw any arms, and she would not suggest it. At least, not right now. But given the right opportunity, she would, without hesitation.

Rhyse told her that the stronghold was built on 30 acres. This settlement sat about ten leagues* down the Bruinen from Rivendell, and very close to that river, in the northeastern most corner of the Angle. Jeren already knew that the Angle was bordered by the River Mitheithel to the west, the Bruinen to the east, with the Great East Road to the north. She'd ridden with her father enough, after her mother had died, to know the basic countryside, and she longed to explore it on Two's back. Perhaps later, she would, _with Rhyse's permission, of course_. That he was considered her superior officer galled her.

Rhyse explained to her that Aragorn had been at the settlement for an extended period, but his time with them was fast coming to a close. The Chieftain usually chose to walk amongst the people out in the countryside, as the other rangers did, and it was not unusual for him to be gone for a year or more without returning. In those times, his second in command, Halbarad, took charge, unless he, too, was out in the wild. When he was, a man of the settlement—Ged—took over. He was not a ranger, merely a man of the Dunadain, whose interests lay more in managing the stronghold; he was no wilderness traveler. But Halbarad supervised the day-to-day runnings of the stronghold while he was in residence. When Halbarad barked, the rangers always listened.

Rhyse did not know who his superior officer would be, since Anardil no longer lived. He told Jeren that he hoped it was not Halbarad. He did not give a reason for his dislike of that idea and Jeren did not ask.

By now it was late afternoon, so they walked out the gates and down to the river that ran alongside the settlement. It was shady and much cooler, so they sat for a little while. They didn't speak much. Every now and then Jeren would ask him something, such as what fish would she catch were she to drop her line in the water. He told her trout and mayhap a carp. Catfish at times, too.

"Have you thought any more about what I proposed to you the other night?" Rhyse finally asked her.

Jeren had no doubt to what Rhyse was referring—his question of courting. Jeren did not quite like the word 'propose' being in that phrase. Was too close to 'marriage' or 'wedded'. A momentary longing for Elladan seized her heart, but she pushed it away.

"A bit," Jeren answered. "Rhyse, I truly am not looking for any romantic pursuits right now. I'm too busy to give it the attention it deserves."

"Funny," he said, with a little smile, "you don't look too busy at present."

She laughed. "So, what we are doing right now is what you consider courting?"

"I told you before, I simply wished to get to know you better. I think we are doing that now."

"I suppose you're right," she admitted. "Yet, how will Aragorn feel about my superior officer courting me?"

Rhyse gave her a look she could not decipher, but when he answered her, she understood it. "He told you that _I_ was your superior officer?" He was confused by the title.

So, it _was _some scheme Aragorn—and mayhap Elrohir—had cooked up.

And then she knew—they were trying to keep her in line! Mold her. _And for what? _

Her spirits rose as she thought that mayhap Aragorn's protesting about her never being a ranger was just bluff! Yet they settled back down as her more sensible side admitted: _mayhap it wasn't bluff at all, and he just didn't want any trouble from her._

"That's what I was told, Rhyse."

"That is decidedly not what I was told," Rhyse said, almost as if embarrassed. Then his expression changed to one of speculation. "On the other hand, the Chieftain did say I would be responsible for you—and any mistakes you might make. I suppose in a way, that would define a superior officer. Yet, I've not been told of any rise in my rank, that's for certain."

Jeren laughed again. "Methinks I'm participating in some strategic game here, Rhyse. Perhaps like a chess match. I'm afraid you are the pawn, at least for their side." Her conscience stirred as she remembered that she'd likened Rhyse to that same thing in her own mind.

"_Their _side?" Rhyse asked. "Who exactly are we playing against, besides the Chieftain, I mean?"

Jeren glanced at Rhyse from the corners of her eyes, just before she spoke. If she knew how beguiling she appeared when she did that, she would have chosen another expression.

"The sons of Elrond," she replied. "Or it could just be one of them. Elrohir, for certain. I've suspected it for a while, but as time goes by, I'm growing more and more sure of it."

Rhyse stood and extended a hand to help Jeren up. She accepted it, although it went against all she held dear.

"Well, whatever the contest and whoever the players, they will find I enjoy a good game—_and_ winning. You have an ally in me, Jeren." He gave her an artful smile. "Now, 'tis growing late. I have a few things I must do before the evening meal, so we had better get back."

"What are the things?" Jeren asked. "I could help."

"It's not necessary," Rhyse replied. "You should use the time to move into your room."

She agreed; smiling as she noted that he'd not renewed his offer to help her clean her new abode.

They walked back inside the gates.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Rhyse entered the dining hall, piled food on a plate and sat at one of the long tables that were already filled with men for evening meal. He'd seated himself by Joem, who was not one of Rhyse's favorite people. Joem was a big man, both in brawn and in stature, and he also had a big mouth on him. He often spoke in an ill-favored way, and Rhyse tried not to engage the man in conversation could he help it.

Rhyse was hungry, so he dug right into his meal, listening to those around him, but not speaking himself. It took a few moments before he began to understand what the talk was about—or perhaps more rightly who—and he could feel his anger rising with every word Joem uttered.

"She's comely enough," Joem said, "yet I'd not want to bed her. I suppose the reason she sticks with the men is because the women won't have her—she must still stink of Orc." There were a few quiet snickers from those around them, but mostly there was silence.

Rhyse was off the bench, holding Joem by the tunic before any realized what was happening. And he'd punched Joem in the jaw soon after. Joem, no slouch when it came to fisticuffs, gave back what he'd been given. While Rhyse was tall—he stood at six feet—he was not of large build. Rhyse felt as if he'd been hit with the broad end of a shovel, but he did not fall.

As Joem was about to hit Rhyse again, there was a shout that no one could ignore.

"Hold!" Aragorn bellowed. The crowd parted as he strode toward the two rangers who'd been going at it. Others had taken control of the two men, restraining them to prevent more mayhem.

"What's it to you, what I say about the wench?" Joem snarled at Rhyse.

"She is Anardil's daughter," Rhyse threw back at him. "He is no longer here to defend her honor."

"Honor?" Joem laughed. "She _has_ no honor!"

Rhyse broke away from those holding him and would have knocked a tooth or two from Joem's foul mouth had Aragorn not grasped Rhyse by the tunic.

The Chieftain said in a quiet tone, which brooked no nonsense, "This is not permitted. Each of you will have sentry duty on the wall for the next five nights—starting now—together. See that you get along." He let go of Rhyse as if disgusted and went to the serving tables.

Rhyse swiped at his bleeding lip as he staggered toward the door. Joem gave him a wide berth. T'was not that he was afraid of Rhyse by any means—he merely hated sentry duty and would not want the Chieftain to give him worse for carrying on the fight.

Jeren came into the dining hall as Rhyse was leaving. She saw his ruined lip and wondered what had happened, but Rhyse did not stop, nor slow down, when he saw her. She shrugged her shoulders and went to the serving table, where she gave herself healthy helpings of all that was offered there.

She sat at a table with two other men already sitting there. They were not finished, but they got up and left. She shook her head. She truly did not fit in here. The men all shunned her. But that mattered little to her; she was used to that sort of treatment. When she'd begun training with the Elves of Imladris, they had dealt with her in much the same way, either ignoring her completely or insulting her if they felt the need. She would insult them right back or ignore them as well. It did not kill her then, and it would not kill her now. She knew if she'd just get the chance to demonstrate for these men her skill—at the very least with her bow—they'd give her grudging respect, as the Elves had finally done. At this point, that was all she could hope for.

Elrohir joined her soon after and they ate in silence for a few moments.

"You certainly know how to clear a table, Young Lady," he said with a smirk.

She frowned at him. "Thank you for pointing that out, Elrohir."

"I heard there was a ruckus in here a few minutes ago," he said.

"I assumed that on my own. I wonder what it was about. Rhyse was one of the combatants. That's all I know."

"I was told it was about you, Jeren," Elrohir said, looking directly into her eyes.

"What about me?" she wanted to know.

"That I did not hear," he confessed, as he took another bite of his bread. "I only heard that the combatants—we already know Rhyse was one—the other was Joem—have been punished with sentry duty on the gates for the five nights coming."

Jeren frowned again. _So now Rhyse was fighting battles for her, was he?_ She was going to have a talk with him soon. Mayhap tonight, while he was walking the wall.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

*I am using the estimate of approximately three miles equaling one league.


	11. The Rumor

Chapter 11: The Rumor

It was quite dark, but Jeren could not think of sleep yet. Her mind was in turmoil about what the fight in the dining hall could have been about—especially if it was about her.

She was restless. Elrohir was again ensconced with Aragorn in the alcove, so he could offer her no entertainment. Her knife and dagger were honed to perfection, so she need not see to them. She had cleaned her small room and moved her meager belongings in. The gates were closed for the night, so even if she thought to ride, she could not. And the more she tried to move her mind from the fight between Rhyse and Joem, the more it seemed to lodge more securely there.

She truly had no desire to see Rhyse again this day, but her curiosity about that fight just might kill her. And if she didn't like the answer Rhyse gave, she just might kill him. _Of course_, she thought sarcastically, _that would involve using a weapon—and that could get me disciplined and sent home._

With that caustic thought she got up from her bed. She had shed her knife for the evening, but she now belted it back on. When walking about, she felt naked without it. It had become as a part of her. She paced the small room, trying to talk herself out of seeking Rhyse, but she knew she would not settle until she had some answers. So she set out to find him.

The wall was made of stones mortared together until they reached a height of twenty feet. The gates were wooden, for motility, so they could be opened and closed. There were narrow stone steps that led to sixteen feet up the wall, where there was a ledge for patrolling. The ledge was narrow, but there was plenty of room for sitting or standing. However sitting was against regulations and if you were on watch, you were on your feet for your shift. The shifts were generally six hours long.

The guards had walked the walls at night since they had been erected. When the settlement had first been built, there had been great need for the sentries, but since the Watchful Peace, such vigilance could have been relaxed. Yet Aragorn was ever advised by Gandalf, and the Wizard often told the Chieftain it was better to err on the side of caution, as well as keep the men in skillful routine, for evil again stirred.

When Jeren found Rhyse, he'd been walking the wall for almost three hours. _And was he in a mood! _The moon was full now, so while Jeren could not see great detail, it did not take much light to see that Rhyse had probably taken the worst of the scrap he had been in with Joem. His lip was swollen, and every now and then he had to dab at it with his sleeve—it still bled some. Even she could see it could use a stitch. She would find Elrohir as soon as she had finished talking with Rhyse.

"More questions?" he asked her.

"Just one," she answered. "Your lip. How did it get so injured?"

"I was in a fight," he answered plainly.

"Tell me about it," she said.

"It was my fight. That makes it my business. 'Tis not worth speaking of."

"I heard the fight was about me. That makes it my business."

Rhyse remained silent and stone-faced, just staring at her.

"So, we are at a stand off?"

Still Rhyse did not answer. He held her gaze with his own.

"I will find out from someone," she said, in a matter-of-fact tone. "I would rather find out from you."

"I took a slight from something Joem said. I hit him. He hit me. I told you, there's nothing to tell."

"When I find out," she said, starting to get angry, "I will come back to see you. Mayhap you might wish you'd told me yourself." She walked away from him, ready to descend the narrow stepway.

"Wait." He didn't shout nor was he loud. He strode toward her till he was right beside her. In a voice quieter still he said, "Joem was speaking in an ill way about you. It matters not what he said. It only matters that I silenced him."

Jeren stepped to within inches of Rhyse. She almost growled, "I can fight my own battles, Rhyse! I do not need you to do it for me."

She turned her back to him again, about to descend the steps.

He walked closer to her, grabbed her arm until she stopped and then he let her go. In almost a whisper, he declared, "He made reference to your being attacked by Orcs. I will not stand by while the name of someone who overcame them is dragged through the muck."

"_What?_" she asked breathlessly, disbelieving.

Jeren could not have been more surprised by what Rhyse said. How could anyone here know? She'd certainly not told anyone. The only ones who knew of it were the twins, Aragorn, and her father. None of them would mention it in casual conversation.

"I'd rather not speak of this here," he said with quiet earnestness. "Tomorrow. We will leave through the gates and go sit by the river. We can discuss it there. There are ears here you do not wish to listen to what we might say."

Jeren looked around and finally saw that Joem was standing on the far wall from them. He was watching, but she doubted he could have heard much of what they'd said so far.

"Very well," she answered vaguely, and took the first step down.

"Good night, my lady," he called after her. He'd used the title not as a slur or a slander, but as if he meant it.

She descended the steps and did not answer.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Even as troubled as she was by Rhyse's revelation, she had to find Elrohir. He needed to see Rhyse—stitch his lip. She went inside the hall and made her way to the alcove. Aragorn and Elrohir were there. And so was Elladan. _He'd come on his own._

As soon as her voice would carry, she said, "I mean not to interrupt. But if one of you could see to Rhyse—he needs stitching. He's on the wall." She turned and left without a backward glance.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Aragorn called out for Halbarad. "Yessir?" Halbarad answered.

"Send someone out to the wall—I need Rhyse here."

"Yessir!"

"Jeren seemed shaken," Elrohir said, when it was just the three of them again.

"Jeren just lost her father," Elladan commented, "Of course she's shaken."

"No, Elladan, it is more than that. And I think it is not something trivial.

"And how do you deduce that, Brother?" Elladan asked.

"The look on her face, first of all," Elrohir replied abruptly. "There was a fight in the dining hall earlier this evening," Elrohir continued. "Estel said it had something to do with Jeren, although he did not know what. So I asked someone who was there and had heard the entire commotion. Jeren's attack by Orcs has become common knowledge."

"How is that possible?" Aragorn asked.

"I'm not sure," Elrohir said, "but I will find out."

They resumed the conversation they'd been having before Jeren came in.

"That last battle we were involved in," Elladan said, "had the Orc strength at just over forty. That's one of the largest we've seen before now."

"And now you say there's a large force of Orcs to the east? How large?" Elrohir asked his brother.

"The scout who reported to Father this morning said at least a hundred strong. What would they be gathering for, if not to launch an attack on someone—somewhere?"

"And their location?" Aragorn asked.

"They were seen just across the Anduin, near Rhosgobel, not quite to the borders of Mirkwood. But the scouting was almost a week old by the time we got it, so take that as it is. They could be anywhere by now."

Elladan walked a short distance away, obviously thinking the situation over. "You do not suppose somehow your identity has been learned?" he asked Aragorn. "While they are still a distance away, and it is most certainly possible that their aim is the Woodland Realm, the Orcs' position is too close to here for my liking."

"Sauron is rumored to be in Minas Morgul," Aragorn replied, "but still not in bodily form. But he does have the Nine to do his handiwork. According to Gandalf, six of the Nazgul are with him in Minas Morgul, but three of them are reported to be in Dol Guldur. Where the Witch King is, is anyone's guess. And that they are behind this surge in Orc numbers is doubtless. But I know not how it would be possible for anyone to know who I am. Only my brethren here and in Rivendell know of my true heritage."

"Yes," Elladan said, "but the Nazgul captured the Palantir when they took Minas Ithil. As we speak, you may be within the sight of any one of those you've just named."

"There is no Palantir near here, to answer the call of another," Aragorn said. "There is very little chance that either Sauron, or the Nazgul have seen me, much less know who I am."

"Ah, but you are not taking into account the power Sauron could have," Elladan said. "There need be no near stone—he could already be powerful enough to be able to use it to see where he will."

Elrohir interrupted their dispute. "Neither of you are taking into account that Rivendell would be in the Orcs' direct path, should they contemplate an attack on this settlement, and none of them—Sauron, the Nazgul—none of them is stupid enough to attempt to go so near to Imladris."

Rhyse walked into the alcove then, and stood at attention, waiting to be told just what exactly he was there for. Instead of speaking to him, Aragorn stood toe to toe with the younger man and grasped his chin in his fingers, turning his face first one way and then the other.

"Jeren is right—you need to be stitched. Sit down, while we gather what we need to sew you up."

In short order Rhyse had been given a couple of strong brandies for the pain, and Aragorn himself was stitching Rhyse's lip.

"What were you fighting about?" Elladan asked Rhyse.

"Words were said that I found objectionable," Rhyse replied, even while Aragorn was trying to set the stitches.

"Hold still!" he told Rhyse. "This is difficult enough without your lips flapping. And you," he pointed at Elladan with his free hand, "quit asking him questions."

Elladan ignored Aragorn and asked, "What words did you object to—about what—or who?"

"I would rather not say," was Rhyse's mumbled reply.

Aragorn stood back, dropping the needle, which then dangled from Rhyse's lower lip by the thread. "What did you object to, Rhyse?"

"If I say, I say it under protest," Rhyse insisted.

"Duly noted," Aragorn said. "Now speak."

"I was trying to quell a rumor about Anardil's daughter."

"What rumor?" Elladan was not going to let up until he knew enough that he could tell Elrohir he was mistaken. Elrohir simply stood by with a knowing look on his face.

Rhyse took a deep breath, as if weighing the pros and cons of disobeying a direct order. Aragorn had told him to speak, but he did not want to talk any more with a needle and thread hanging from his mouth.

"Could we finish this first?" he asked, pointing lipward. "And then I will answer your questions, if I'm ordered to do so."

Aragorn took up the needle again and resumed the stitching. "You are so ordered," he assured Rhyse.

The cut only took three well-placed stitches, so Aragorn was finished less than two minutes later. As he cut the thread away, he said, "Now, what did Joem say that you objected to enough to earn you five nights of wall duty?"

Elrohir, Aragorn and Elladan were all staring at Rhyse, waiting for him to answer. And he really did not want to discuss this. It was not in his nature to promote hearsay, and until he spoke to Jeren tomorrow, he would not know for sure if what Anardil and Elladan had said was true—_if_ she even consented to tell him about it.

Anardil had been fevered—he could have been out of his head. The fact that Elladan had argued with Anardil posed a question, but Rhyse did not hold with rumors until someone in a position to know set him straight about them. However, Rhyse had been ordered to talk, so he would obey.

"Joem made reference to something Anardil said when he was fevered and talking—" Rhyse paused, choosing his words with care, "—he was not exactly out of his head, but he spoke more than he usually did. Anardil was typically a very quiet and thoughtful man. He never let on about his cares. So what he said was very unlike him. I thought it the fever talking. His remarks were about his daughter, being overrun by Orcs at their cabin when he was out on patrol."

Rhyse then looked at Elladan. "And then you answered Anardil, saying that she had prevailed over the Orcs—that she'd lived. Joem, Brid and I were all sitting there, and I know what I surmised from the things that were said. And from what Joem said in the dining hall this evening, I am sure he surmised it also. People attacked by Orcs hardly ever survive, and women are always—" Rhyse paused again, looked at each of them staring down at him, and let that thought go. "And since Anardil is no longer here to defend her honor, and Jeren was also absent and could not do it herself, I took it upon myself to set Joem straight."

"What exactly did Joem say, Rhyse?" Elrohir asked.

"I will not utter such filth," Rhyse replied stoically. "It was beneath what a decent man would ever say about a lady."

"Thank you, Rhyse," Aragorn said after a few moments, breaking the deadly quiet that had overtaken them all. "You are dismissed." Rhyse got up from his chair and left, going back to the wall to finish out his shift.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

The twins looked at each other. Elrohir's eyes were filled with empathy. Elladan's wore guilt in their depths. Aragorn watched both of them, well aware of their compunction to mind speak with each other, whether others were present or not.

"Well, what are you going to do about it?" Aragorn asked his foster brothers.

They both turned their eyes on him. "Us?" Elrohir asked. "You are her kinsman. Why don't you do something about it, since it is your men causing the trouble?"

"Well, it certainly wasn't me who had the loose tongue."

Elladan glared at him. Then his gaze softened. "I barely recall the incident. I remember tending to Anardil, and I also remember thinking that he had certainly lost his tendency toward quiet." He turned to Elrohir. "You were there. Is what Rhyse said true? Did I really say those things with the others present?"

"I'm afraid that you did, Brother," Elrohir said softly. "And I thought both you and Anardil were certainly loose-lipped. I had also begun to link your strange behavior to the poison, but by that time, the damage had been done. I'd hoped those present were honorable, and that it would go no further. My hopes were obviously in vain."

"I was not still fevered by the time this happened," Elladan said. "The poison is indeed the cause. Somewhat of a truth-inducing toxin, or disturber of the mind, allowing thoughts one might never say to escape one's lips. I can see how Orcs might incorporate that if they would take prisoners. They could ask vital questions and then the prisoner would die a horrendous death within a few days—both things quite pleasing to those animals. My part in this sickens me. I've never been one not to mind my words in the presence of others."

"So now what remains is what are we to do about the situation?" Elrohir wanted to know.

"What is there to do about it?" Aragorn asked. "The word is out. The damage has been done."

"I will go speak to her," Elrohir said. "At the very least, perhaps I can ease her mind."

"No, Brother," Elladan put in. "It is my fault this has happened; it should be me who finds her. I must apologize to her."

"Elladan—" Elrohir said in warning, "you need to keep your distance from her."

"Now who has loose lips?" Elladan asked, glancing meaningfully at Aragorn. Then he smiled. "Worry not. All will be well, Elrohir."

And he left them there to say what they might.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Elladan knocked softly on the little door in the loft, where he was told that Jeren was staying. She did not answer, but he would not be deterred. He opened the door of the cell, the Spartan surroundings lit only by the moon shining through a small, high window set near the peak in the roof.

"Elrohir, for once I'm truly glad you came in without being invited." Jeren had been lying on the small bed, still fully clothed, right down to her boots, but she sat up and held out a hand to the Elf walking through the door. She'd been half expecting him to come and comfort her. What Rhyse had told her had shocked her to the bone, and she knew Elrohir had read it on her face when he'd seen her in the hall.

Elladan did not hesitate, nor did he set Jeren straight. He feared she would turn him away were she to know which twin he really was. He'd been terribly hard on her the last few times he'd seen her. If she weren't angry with him, he would be very surprised. And he needed to talk to her.

He took her hand and climbed onto the small bed and eased her down to lie on her side, he lying behind her, spoonlike. He held her close; he could hear her heart beating.

Before he could say a word, she asked him, "How could they know?"

Elladan truly did not like deceiving her. But he needed her to accept his presence gradually. He whispered so she possibly might not realize she was speaking to him and not Elrohir.

"Who, Young Lady—knows what?"

"At least some of the men," she answered, "know about the Orcs' attack on me. How could they know?" she repeated.

"Does it make a big difference?" he whispered again.

She was silent for a few moments. "My first reaction was shame and guilt," she admitted, "but then I remembered, I did nothing wrong."

Elladan propped himself up on one elbow. "You absolutely did nothing wrong." He had not whispered, had not tried to emulate Elrohir this time when he answered.

She turned, rising up on her elbows, too. "Elladan?" she asked, bewildered.

"Yes, Jeren."

She rose and lit the lamp. When the light hit Elladan's face, she asked him, "Why are you here? I thought we were going to avoid each other. And now—you've invited yourself to my bed?"

"I need to talk to you." He paused, then added, "I know you are hurting. I only thought to ease your heart."

"What you're doing is confusing me," Jeren said truthfully.

"I mean not to."

"Why are you here?" she asked him again. "Elrohir is ever the one who tries to ease my heart."

"In this case," he said, guilt written plainly on his face, "I'm the reason your heart needs easing."

At her puzzled expression, he added, "Just let me explain and apologize—then if you still want Elrohir, I will fetch him."

Elladan told her the story he'd pieced together from things Rhyse and Elrohir had said. He was careful to leave Rhyse's name out of it, as much as he could. Rhyse had only tried to help her—he did not deserve her wrath for having told tales about her out of her presence. Moreover, Aragorn had ordered the man to talk.

"Jeren, I am deeply sorry for my part in this, but I think the subject never would have been spoken about at all, if not for this new Orc poison. Your father, I now understand, was affected by it in the same way as I. I barely remember the incident. I do not remember saying what Elrohir assures me that I did."

"If it was the poison," Jeren asked, "why did it not affect me and Elrohir when we were cut with the blades from the same band of Orcs? I know the blade that cut me was poisoned. Even with Elrohir's drastic treatment of it, it still became badly infected—and soon."

"Are you sure that it did not affect you? Only the two of you were there. Perhaps it did, and you do not recall it." Elladan thought about it in silence for a moment more. "Perhaps your wounds were tended sooner, so you did not get the full effects of the toxin?"

"They were without doubt tended sooner," Jeren commented. "That could be the answer. And by then, Elrohir knew to burn the wound to stop the poison's action. We saw to each other very quickly after the battle. My father did not receive care for at least an hour—you, closer to two."

By now they were both sitting cross-legged on the bed, facing each other. Jeren said, a small smile on her lips, "I've missed this."

Lines between Elladan's brows told her that he didn't understand exactly what she meant.

"Speaking easily with each other, like the friends we used to be."

He returned her smile. "I've missed it, too."

After a few minutes of companionable silence, Jeren said, "I'm sure most of the men have heard about my run-in with Orcs by now, so I might as well stop trying to win them over with my endless charm." She smiled at her usual sarcasm and Elladan chuckled.

"I'm truly sorry, Jeren," he repeated. "Could I make it right, I would." He frowned. "So, what Aragorn and Elrohir fear is true? You are here to try and win a place with the rangers, even though you've been told countless times that endeavor is fruitless?"

"What else am I to do with my life, Elladan? I cannot rely on Rivendell to support me forever, even though your father would have me there, served with silver platters and sitting on satin pillows."

"There are other things to do there as well as here, Jeren," he told her.

"What, Elladan?" she asked him, quiet intensity in her voice. "I'm no scholar, nor am I a healer, nor do I want to be. I am a warrior. And I'm extremely good at it, if any of you would let go of the notion that I'm a woman and that those two things oppose each other." She rose from the bed and paced a few steps away.

"This is all I've ever done, Elladan. My father took me out on patrol with him when I was thirteen. He started training me well before then. I've seen what goes on, and I want it! I've spent the past several years perfecting myself, and for what? No one will open the door a crack to even peek out and see if I'm capable or not. Well, this door is cracked and I intend to take full advantage of it. I will not quit until I'm either dead from trying or I'm allowed in fully."

Elladan seemed lost in thought, but Jeren knew he'd heard her. Finally he looked at her and said, "Elrohir spent some time with Glorfindel when last we were home . He questioned him long about your abilities and stamina, as well as your courage and heart while in battle. Glorfindel told him that at first his warriors knew not what to do with you, when called to spar with you—or, Valar forbid, go hand to hand with you. But that it was your dogged determination to be accepted by them that finally won you your place, and they learned to treat you like any other warrior.

"He told Elrohir that as long as you did not lose heart, he had continued teaching you, until he felt you were ready and from then on your only teacher could be experience. And as for your courage and heart and stamina, Glorfindel said you have all three.

Aragorn would be ready to give you your chance, but majority rules the rangers, and he knows there cannot be a majority yet who would vote you in to be a recruit. Elrohir and I have been extremely reluctant. None of us could abide losing you in a battle. And—we love you—but I think it would kill my father if anything ever happened to you."

Jeren was stunned for the second time this evening. It bolstered her heart to know that Glorfindel truly felt she could be a warrior and that he hadn't just given up on her as a lost cause and turned her away for someone else to manage. Jeren was confident as a whole, but being the lone woman amidst males of all sorts tended to drain on one's energy at times. She'd had her doubts that Glorfindel was being completely truthful with her. But he would have no reason to deceive Elrohir.

_And Aragorn's attitude—she would never have guessed it in thousands of years!_

She hoped she'd not shown her surprise on her face, because the last thing she needed Elladan to see in her now was self-doubt of any kind. Bringing her mind back to the conversation at hand, she told Elladan exactly what she thought of his last remark.

"How do you think I felt every time my father or you or Elrohir rode out to fight with the rangers? Just because I'm a woman would not make the loss of me greater than either of you! My father is gone, and despite our differences, I feel his loss deeply. You and Elrohir might be Elves, but you are not impervious to the sharpness of a blade or the well-placed arrow!" She sat back down on the bed. "And I've made enough sacrifices for your father. I'll not give up this dream for him, too."

Elladan's piercing stare at that final remark told Jeren she'd said more than she ought. She was not of a mind to tell him about it, but he had the look in his eyes that she knew meant he would not be put off.

"Your father spoke to me the night before I left Rivendell," she said. "He knew about us—that we'd been together. He told me his children actually have a choice of whether to stay Elven or to become Human. So I've decided—"

"He had no right!" Elladan interrupted angrily. "How could he tell you this after he'd spoken to me that same night? And he talked of trust—" Now it was Elladan's turn to stalk the room.

Jeren tried not to let anger enter into the conversation. She had welcomed their reclaimed friendship, and did not want to lose it now, but this was something they had to discuss.

"He had every right, Elladan," Jeren said, her voice even and calm. "He's your father, and he wants not to lose you. Any rational parent would have done the same and you know it."

She could see his shoulders relax, as he stepped back to the bed and sat again. "But to shorten the story somewhat," she continued, "he asked me—not precisely in these words—to leave you alone. And I've decided that's exactly what I'm going to do." She looked at him, tears in her eyes that she desperately hoped would not fall. "It will not be easy. I love you as I've never loved another. I wish to do as your father asks, but it will take me time. I think your idea that we stay clear of one another is a good one."

"I do not like the notion that he is intruding in this," Elladan said with force. "He's lived his life and now he must let me live mine. I do not want to hurt him, but whom someone loves in this life is in some ways more important than the length of one's life. This decision Elrohir and Arwen and I have to make—eventually—is just that—_our_ decision. My father _has_ _made_ his choice. He needs to tend to his own cares."

In a much calmer tone Elladan added, "Forget what my father told you, Jeren. This has nothing to do with him."

Elladan took her hands in his and looked into her eyes. "Most of all, I want not to hurt you. That is of utmost importance. But I am sorry, Jeren; I love you, yet I think I do not love you enough for us to bond forever. You deserve someone's total heart. Perhaps my feelings will grow stronger with time, but that is not something we should base our future on. I have all the time the world has to give me. You do not. If one must work this hard at it, then perhaps it is not a love that was meant to be."

Jeren pulled her hands from his to wipe at her eyes before the tears had a chance to fall down her cheeks. This was all too complicated—this love between Humans and Elves. No wonder it was not customarily done. Her Human heart was passionate and fiery, quick to love—and hate as well. But Elves hearts seemed to move at a much slower pace, and in this case, Elladan was right; she probably did not have the time left on this earth to wait for him to make up his mind. And if he had to think and dwell upon it this much, his love for her could nowhere equal hers for him.

"I know what I feel Elladan," she answered quietly. "I know I love being with you and near you; I love talking with you and even fighting with you."

"Can you not say the same things about Elrohir, Jeren?" He asked her with quiet seriousness. "He knows you like I do not."

"And he exasperates me like you do not," she added, with a smile. "He I have no doubts about, Elladan. I love Elrohir as if he were my brother. You—the feeling is quite different, and I've never been able to decipher why."

He took her fingers again, somehow needing the contact. He rubbed his thumbs over her knuckles, gazing at her hands as he did. He then looked back at her. "I have been watching Rhyse with you. He has the look about him of a man interested in a woman. I think you should consider him."

Jeren smiled, because a part of her still could not believe Rhyse had asked her if he could court her. Then she said as much to Elladan.

"What did you tell him?" he asked her.

"I told him I would think about it."

"And have you?" He let go of her hands and stood again.

"I find the idea somewhat ludicrous, to be honest," she admitted. "But I have thought of accepting his courtship; so that ultimately he might influence the other rangers in my favor." She looked at Elladan to judge his reaction to this news. As ever, when he had a mind to, he gave no hint of his feelings.

"Spend time with him," Elladan encouraged her. "It might be that he is the one for you. That I have been but a passing fancy."

"A passing fancy that lasted for over seven years?" Jeren asked doubtfully.

Elladan smiled at her usual sarcasm. "To an Elf, seven years is but a heartbeat," he told her.

She stood then, too. She felt like weeping, knowing he simply did not love her as she loved him. But she could not fault him. As she well knew, one's heart did not always give one a choice as to whom it would love.

She stepped into his embrace, holding him tightly, not wanting to let him go. But with gentle hands, Elladan smoothed back the tiny tendrils of hair that had escaped her braid. With his fingers framing her face, he looked at her long. And with the slightest of smiles, he kissed her lightly on the lips.

He slipped out the door, closing it quietly behind him.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**


	12. The Games

Chapter 12: The Games

Jeren got no rest during a fitful night, and had risen well before sunrise. She dressed and made her way out to the wall. She climbed the stone steps, dipping her head in greeting to the sentry standing there. She then walked to the far corner and faced east, watching as the first purple-gray hint of the dawn made itself known.

The melancholy she believed she'd left in Rivendell next to her parents' graves had stolen into her spirit as she'd tossed in her bed last night. She usually wasn't given to self-pity, and the fact that she could not banish that emotion roiled in her mind, making her angry.

She was angry with her mother for leaving her alone when she was still quite a young girl. Jeren's heart hurt when she thought of the many times she and Jennah had sat together at night, snuggled in her parents' big bed, and had talked of so many things—ambitions and hopes and dreams. That was lost to her now. She had sore need for a mother's guidance this morning, especially when it came to matters of the heart. _What would you have said to my love of Elladan, Mother?_

And her father; the mere thought of him this morning made her irate. He'd trained her and disciplined her harshly at times; but most of all he'd taken her into his world, spoiling her for the real world into which she'd been born. And his errant words had cost her dearly. This rumor—which was no rumor at all, but the Valar's own truth—would have never become know, if not for him. _Thank you so very much, Papa!_

But as these traitorous thoughts crossed her mind, the anger left her, leaving only sadness in its wake. _That _she could not abide_. _She looked to the east once again, as the first rays of the sun burst out upon the horizon.

_This day would not be for wallowing_. Nor for punishing her parents in their graves. Just as the sun was rising, so would rise her spirit. Where there was light, joy could be found.

_And she would find joy today if it killed her_.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Jeren decided to go see Elen, not really knowing why. Jeren suspected it was something about Elen herself. Perhaps it was her aunt's connection to her mother. Even though Jennah had been dead these past ten years, Jeren still missed her fiercely at times, no more so than today.

It was not that the two appeared alike. Elen looked very different from Jennah. Jennah had been tall, but wiry—as was Jeren—and Elen was short and more full-bodied. They did have the same eyes and something about their smiles rang true to each other. And while there was a likeness between them that was unmistakable, those things were not what nagged at Jeren now. Perhaps it was in their manner.

But that didn't make sense either. Elen was exuberant and lively, where Jennah had been more sedate and serene. Jennah had been cheerful and optimistic as a whole, but she did not seem to vibrate with life the way Elen did. So on the surface their two personalities did not resemble each other all that much.

Mayhap it was the simple fact that Elen was a woman—someone with whom Jeren might commiserate this day. She could not put a finger on it, but this morning she unexpectedly sought her aunt's company.

She knocked at the door of the last cabin on the left, expecting a cheerful greeting. Yet Elen came to the door, a kerchief to her mouth.

"Oh Jeren," she said, "Come in." Elen tried to seem as she had yesterday, but failed. Jeren could see that Elen had been weeping, and it made her feel even more awkward than she already did.

"Perhaps I could come back some other time?" Jeren asked, almost in a panic. She involved herself with weapons and fighting, not weeping, which was definitely not something she dealt with on any sort of a frequent basis. Jeren's own tears embarrassed her, so those of someone else left her cold.

Elen smiled. "No!" she said, seeming more like herself. "You get yourself in here! We've much to catch up on!"

Jeren entered the cabin and very soon found herself seated at the kitchen table, a cup of tea before her.

"Have you broken your fast this morning?" Elen wanted to know.

"Yes," Jeren answered. "I stuffed myself with biscuits, sausage and eggs."

Elen swallowed hard at Jeren's mention of food, her rosy complexion suddenly wan and pale. Jeren wondered if perhaps her aunt were ill.

Elen sat down and the two of them caught up on things in Jeren's life. Elen wanted to know all the details of exactly when Jennah had taken ill and had died. And then what Jeren had done after that, being still a very young girl.

Jeren told of her mother's slow death, and how, without Anardil's presence, Jeren had buried Jennah alone. Jeren explained how she'd ridden with Anardil for a while, until he deemed it too unsafe for her. Elen "tsked" at the thought of a child riding with a ranger, but otherwise did not interrupt.

Jeren thought carefully about leaving out the Orc attack. She truly hated speaking about it. Whenever she did, that terror was just beneath the surface of her mind, and she detested the feeling. She cringed to think how her mind would be had Lord Elrond not used his powers to heal it. She was certain she'd not be a warrior. Valar—she probably wouldn't even be whole!

But in the end, Jeren knew it was inevitable that Elen would learn if not the truth, then at least the rumor. The story was out, thanks to Joem, who Jeren had learned wore the nickname 'Mouth'. _How apt_.

Jeren would rather that Elen know the true story, and not the product of the tale being carried from ear to ear, spilling from mouths in a distorted way, veering greatly from the truth. If this settlement were like any other, stories told—whether precise in detail or not—were told and told again. And usually with quicksilver speed and not much accuracy.

"There was a horrible Orc attack brought upon a ranger camp containing women and children," Jeren said. "It was after that raid that my father insisted that I stay home from then on."

"Alone?" Elen asked, her eyes widening.

"I was already well-versed in using weapons, Elen," Jeren explained. "I should have been very safe, considering."

"Considering you were a child and alone!" Elen said, her face showing her disgust with Anardil for even contemplating such a life for Jeren.

"I was safe," Jeren continued, "for awhile."

"Oh my, I fear what is coming," Elen said, as her kerchief was again raised to her mouth.

"If you've already heard the rumor, Elen, I wish you to know the true story. If you don't mind, I will tell it to you."

"I am afraid that I have heard something about it, and I discouraged those spreading it from repeating it. But I'd not believed a word of it—not until I heard from you. I never place credence in gossip."

Jeren told her aunt of the brutal attack when she was sixteen, leaving out the most awful details. Just the basic truth. That she'd been injured by her horse, used repeatedly by Orcs, and left for dead in the yard. That Elrohir and Elladan had found her and taken her to Rivendell, where she was completely healed by Lord Elrond. And that she'd lived there up until now.

Jeren was alarmed again to see Elen crying. "Oh my poor Jeren!" Elen said. "What you must've endured. No wonder you've taken to fighting. 'Tis very understandable." Elen got up from her chair and went to Jeren, embracing her from behind. "Worry not, child. I will make sure—if I hear untrue things—to set them all straight!"

Jeren patted her aunt's hand, thanking her as she did so. Her panicked reaction to her aunt's tears soon changed to one of uncertainty. Hearing Elen's words touched her in a way she did not expect. She could only wonder at her own attitude—how much she was growing to like Elen in so short a time.

Coming back to herself, Elen exclaimed, "Oh that Anardil!" But then she added, with a hand over her heart, "rest his soul." She seated herself at the table again, saying, "He was always too proud for his own good, and apparently for yours, too! We would have loved having you here with us, Jeren."

Jeren looked about the cabin skeptically, wondering where her aunt would have found the room to add another person to her already large family. Elen was sharp, and she immediately picked up on her niece's thought.

"We'd have managed, and quite well," Elen assured her. "As it is, we'll be adding another to this household soon."

Thinking her aunt was inviting her to stay at the cabin, Jeren immediately declined. "Oh no, Elen. I could not impose."

Elen smiled widely. "As much as I'd love having you here, Jeren, I meant another. You see, I'm not usually this weepy—" and then she added, "nor quite this round. I'm with child, though only a few months along."

"That's wonderful news," Jeren said, but her voice trailed off when she saw the look on Elen's face. "Isn't it?"

Elen smiled again. "'Tis blessed news," she said warmly. "Yet I seem to be the only one happy about it." Elen dabbed at her eyes again.

Jeren couldn't help herself; she grasped Elen's hand. In spite of her initial misgivings about Elen, she found herself genuinely liking her aunt. Elen's spirit was contagious—one could not help but be drawn to her and somehow uplifted, just being near her.

"You aren't my first visitor this morning, Jeren," Elen said. "Elladan came to see me, and he knew right off about the babe! Elves are very curious beings, are they not?" Jeren nodded her agreement, but didn't stop Elen. She could not imagine what Elladan could have said to make Elen cry and she wanted to hear the story.

"He admonished me soundly about the baby—"

At Jeren's belligerent expression, obviously on Elen's behalf, Elen added, "Do not take me wrong, Jeren. He was very kind—as he always is to me—but he had every right to scold me, you see!"

Jeren knit her brows, as confused as she'd ever been. What did Elladan have to say about someone having a child or not? As far as Jeren could see, he would have no cause to even voice an opinion about such a thing. Even after they parted as friends last night, she would have no qualms about bringing Elladan to task for hurting Elenmere. She did not understand it, but some protective instinct had come over her when she thought that Elen might need defending. And from all people—Elladan.

"Perhaps I should explain a bit," Elen said. "When Jamesica was born, I had such a time! I truly almost died. The only thing standing between me and death's door were those twin sons of Elrond! Had they not been here when I gave birth, I'd have bled to death! Valar sent, they were! There'd have been four motherless children left, with only a bereft father to look after them."

Jeren had great difficulty imagining the twins delivering a baby—and caring for the woman afterward. It made her shudder in remembrance of some of the delicate care they'd given her after the Orc attack. She shook the thoughts off and came back to the present.

"Elladan told me then I'd ought never to have another babe—and truly, I was listening!" Elen said, "But when you love a man as I love my James, sometimes—" She let the sentence trail off. She didn't finish the thought, nor did she need to.

"And James—he's beside himself with guilt! I've tried to ease his mind, but so far I've not been successful. But you know, Jeren, it will all work out this time! All will be well! I just know it!"

Now this was the Elen Jeren had seen yesterday.

"Well _Auntie_, if you know it, then it must be so," Jeren said, and was rewarded with the most beautiful smile from her mother's sister.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Jeren spent the rest of the morning with her aunt. She even helped her bake her daily bread. She met James and the boys—Kilar, the oldest at thirteen, Ralf, in the middle at almost twelve, and Jack, a solid boy of nine. And seven-year-old Jamesica reminded Jeren so much of herself. James doted on Elen, that much was completely apparent. Jeren hoped for their sake that Elen was right and all with the babe would be well.

She left right after lunch, which Elen insisted on serving to her. It was nothing grand, but Jeren felt the pull of family by being included. She could hardly believe that before yesterday, she barely knew of their existence. Yes, she'd already known that she had kin, but now, being familiar with the faces and names made all the difference. She felt not quite so alone in the world.

She was heading for the stable to saddle Two and go riding, when she was hailed from down the street. Rhyse waved and she stopped, waiting for him to catch up. As he approached, Jeren could not help but notice that in the cruel light of day he looked worse than he had last night. His lip, while stitched, was swollen and half of his chin was purple.

Jeren wasn't sure if she truly wanted his explanation of the rumor any more; Elladan had told her how it got started, and she did not especially want to discuss the Orc attack with Rhyse. Explaining it to Elen had been quite hard enough.

They went to the stable together, got their mounts and rode out the gates. They rode hard and fast for a while—south, down the river a ways—until the horses needed to rest. They allowed their mounts to walk back toward the settlement, but Rhyse soon called a halt. Jeren decided to take his lead in this, even though she'd not planned to stop; she was wary of conversation with him today.

They sat on the riverbank and finally, Rhyse looked at her long. She knew what was on his mind.

"If you'd rather not talk about it," he said quietly. "I understand. I just wanted to make sure I'd not taken a fist to the mouth for no good reason, if it isn't even true."

"It is true," she said quietly, while staring at the rippling water.

"Must have been terrifying," he said.

"It was," she replied. She did not say anything else.

Surprising to her, neither did he.

Then her mind took a totally new direction. Perhaps knowing of the Orcs' use of her made a difference to him. She could hardly blame him if it did. Most young men did not court a woman without at least thinking ahead to marriage, and they likewise did not want a 'used' woman to take to their beds. She had barely decided to allow Rhyse to court her, so the idea of marriage had not entered her mind. But the thought that he might now find her objectionable made her angry, and not a little hurt.

She got up from the riverbank, saying, her voice harsh, "If you think I'm no longer worthy of your courting, well let me tell you this: I did nothing wrong! It was done to me! If that makes me not good enough for you, well, I'd not let you court me in any case!"

Rhyse was up on his feet the minute that she was. As she turned to walk back to where the horses grazed, he took her arm, preventing her flight. She glared at him and he chuckled at her! She wanted to stomp on his foot to make him let her go, but before she had the chance, he said, "I'd kiss you now, but for one thing, I'm wary of your fists. Fiery does not begin describing you. But mostly I'm afraid I might do something unmanly at the pain it would bring—scream or cry like a baby."

Jeren felt the anger ebb quickly as her mind conjured the picture of Rhyse dissolving into tears because he'd hurt his lip while kissing her. She closed her eyes for a second and then she, too, laughed.

"Here," Rhyse said, "let's sit again. I want not to go back yet. Someone will order me to do something, and I'd much rather sit here with you."

So they sat for a few moments, both of them quiet. She began thinking about what he had said—about kissing her. She wondered at her attitude, but the idea held a certain appeal.

"I have never met another like you before," he finally said. "I like what I know so far—you are tough and opinionated. No simpering over a little dirt or hard work. And you can probably use a bow better than I can." He looked her in the eyes as he made that last remark. "Mind you, I said 'probably'. I do not concede the fact until we have a trial."

"I am ready whenever you are," she said, returning his gaze. "My skills rust with disuse."

She saw his eyes light at the idea of a contest. She smiled and they got up from the grass and mounted their horses. They were away, racing to the gates. He edged her out at the very last minute.

"You will not win at archery," she said looking smug, as she led Two back into the stables.

"You had better not make any wagers on that!" he returned.

They got the horses settled and on their way out of the stable, Rhyse announced loudly to any present, "Archery contest in fifteen minutes!" He did the same in the main hall and the dining hall. Jeren followed him as he made his way to the barracks, where he put his head inside the door and shouted the announcement again.

"I thought this contest was between the two of us," Jeren said, as she hurried beside him. His stride was long and she almost had to run to keep up.

He turned his face toward her and quieted his voice, saying, "I thought you might like an audience—you know, so they could see how well you shoot the bow."

She beamed at him and congratulated herself on how well her plan to win him to her side was going. _It did not occur to her that his plan to win her over was also going well, and right on schedule, too._

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

There were six contestants in all for the archery trial. They drew straws to see which order they'd go in. Jeren drew the short straw first—she was last.

She was pleased to see they'd lured a respectable crowd. She wanted to snicker as the first three contestants' shots went just wide of the center. Had she been in Rivendell, she would have laughed out loud. The Elven trainees and instructors there were cutthroat and vile when it came to contests. The dirtier the dig the better they liked it. The first time she'd shot with the others in Imladris, she'd left the field in tears and disgrace. One of the Elves had only said that she shot like a female, and that was enough to send her running. She'd gone to Lord Elrond, who explained it to her—it was part of the training. If one could ignore base threats and insults, one could ignore anything and keep one's concentration. After that, though it was hard at first, not only did she never run again, she added her insults to theirs.

The fourth to shoot hit just within the center, but only just inside the mark. Rhyse shot next, right before she did. His arrow hit slightly to the left of dead center. Then Jeren was up. She looked to Rhyse. He looked back at her.

"You must order me to draw my weapon," she said evenly. He looked at her with questioning eyes, so she explained it to him. "I thought Lord Aragorn would have told you when he gave you his orders as far as I'm concerned. I am not allowed to use any weapon without your leave to do so. If I do, I will be disciplined and sent packing to Rivendell."

Rhyse felt awkward, not knowing exactly what to say, so he simply said, "Jeren, draw your bow."

The crowd began muttering. She wanted to smile—she was completely within her element, only the men did not know that. She took her bow from around her shoulder, then notched the arrow and took aim—all in one graceful movement—then released it. Dead center. She lowered her bow.

Aragorn, Elrohir and Elladan watched from a distance, well away from the crowd. Aragorn could rely on his Elven brothers to call the match for him. While he had very good eyesight, theirs was flawless from great distances, as was their hearing.

"She's just told them all, that she cannot draw her weapon without Rhyse's direct order to do so," Elladan said, then added, "or she will be punished and sent back to Rivendell." He looked to his brothers. "You did not tell me you'd given her those conditions."

Aragorn looked uneasy for a moment. "I suppose I neglected to tell everyone but Jeren. I should have told Rhyse—he's responsible for her."

The contest was now between the last three shooters. The target was dragged five feet further away. The other fellow, Frank was his name, took aim, lowered his bow for a moment, and then took aim again. He hit the center, but off slightly to the right. Rhyse was next. There were a few good-natured comments from the others standing around. He took aim and hit dead center.

It was Jeren's turn. She looked to Rhyse again, and he once more ordered her to use her bow. The crowd grew restive. She heard the word 'Orc' but did not rise to the bait. As before, she notched, aimed and fired. Again dead center. She lowered her bow.

Elrohir shook his head. "Poor Rhyse is putty in her hands. He falls into her trap without her even putting forth any effort."

Aragorn glanced at his Elven brothers. "Do not discount Rhyse, son of Halbarad, Elrohir. He is young and obviously smitten, but do not think his eyes are closed. He has his father's wily determination, although what he wants, besides Jeren herself, is anyone's guess." Elladan shot a look at Aragorn, but said nothing.

The target was dragged five feet further away. Again, Frank aimed and shot. Just outside of the center. Rhyse then Jeren both shot again. Each dead center.

The contest was now between Jeren and Rhyse. The target was moved, but only three feet further. Rhyse was up and again friendly banter filled the air, until he began aiming. Then all was quiet. Jeren stood behind him, watching his aim. His arrow once more hit just left of dead center.

Jeren's turn again. Rhyse ordered her to arms without prompting this time. She heard the words 'wench' and 'Orcs', but she did not let it bother her. As soon as she had the order from Rhyse, she grabbed an arrow from her quiver, notched it and let it fly. It again hit dead center of the target.

Rhyse beamed at her as the crowd, grumbling, dispersed. "Great shooting!" he said. _He could have hit the target's center for hours if need be. As could she, he knew. In the interest of time and show, he'd let her win. But he would never tell her he'd thrown the contest. He feared for his life if he did._

Jeren gave a slight bow of her head. "Thank you, Rhyse. Thank you for everything." _She did not tell him the 'thank you' was for being so malleable. Even if he did throw the contest. She'd watched his aim, seen him move his bow so he'd hit to the left. It did not matter this time. It was all a show, after all. _

Aragorn, Elrohir and Elladan looked at each other. "Now to decide who just won," Elrohir said to his brothers.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

It was after evening meal, and Jeren was bored again. The twins were ever with Aragorn, plotting another scouting mission, she supposed. They kept their heads together over a map on Aragorn's desk. _What else could it be?_

Whatever it was, she had no one for company and she grew restless. She decided to go see Rhyse. She had something to discuss with him anyway.

As she climbed the narrow steps on the wall up to the walkway, she looked around to see who else was there. It was hard to make out in the darkness, even though the moon was barely waning from full, but she saw a man on each side of the wall. She could not tell who they were, but she knew at least two of them—Rhyse and Joem. Now to find the one she sought.

She stepped up onto the ledge and the man guarding this side—with the gate—was at one corner. He was big, so she knew it had to be Joem. She scanned the other walls quickly and found Rhyse on the wall beyond Joem. She would have to pass The Mouth to get where she wanted to be. _No matter—the ledge is narrow, but two can pass without incident. _

She greeted Joem civilly enough, considering what he'd done to try and ruin her reputation. She was terse, but not arrogant; she merely wanted by.

But he stood directly in the middle of the walkway. "What will you give me to grant your safe passage?" he asked her. She wasn't sure if he meant to be nasty or leering, or if he was just plain stupid, but she really did not care.

"I think the question is more, what will I give _you_ if you try and _not_ grant me safe passage." Jeren didn't know if it was her words, or his fear of reprisal from the Chieftain, not to mention Elrohir and Elladan, but he stepped to the side, making her squeeze between him and the wall. He turned as she passed; her chest was now pressed to his. The temptation to push him was almost more than she could bear. But she kept her arms locked to her sides, and her jaws closed. Her eyes were riveted to his as she squeezed her way to the other side of him.

She made it over to Rhyse, her heart beating fast. T'was not fear that made her react so—she'd truly wanted to do The Mouth bodily harm.

"What did he say to you?" Rhyse asked her quietly. "Was he spoiling for a fight?"

"I wish not to speak of it. 'Twas my fight. That makes it my business." She smiled slowly, then chuckled at her direct imitation of his remarks to her just last night.

His face did not change—he appeared neither vexed nor amused. "What are you doing out here?" he wanted to know, "Besides trying to engage in fights with The Mouth?"

"I thought more to start a fight with you," she said mildly. "Which I would do—since you threw the archery trial—but I believe I know the reason you did it. So instead of starting a quarrel, I thought to thank you again."

Rhyse turned and began walking down his side of the wall, leaving her to follow or not. She watched him retreat, admiring his build. She gave herself a mental shake. _What's the matter with me?_

She thought not to follow him like a puppy wanting a pat on the head. 'Twould not be good form. She kept her eyes fixed on him as he made his way to the far corner, then he turned and walked slowly back, until he was right in front of her once more.

"You said thank you—I accept. Again. Would you like anything else?" Rhyse's voice was husky and deep, as it always was, but Jeren found something in his tone that excited her as well. The question was innocent enough, but the look in his eyes told her it was anything but.

She watched his lips as he spoke, and found herself wondering for the second time this day just how it would feel if he kissed her. The swelling in his lower lip had gone down, she noted, but the stitches were yet in place. _Probably still very painful_. She unconsciously licked her lips. She did not know she'd done it, but Rhyse made a note of it to himself.

"There's plenty I might like," Jeren finally said, "yet the night grows old and I must be abed. See you tomorrow." She turned and headed back the way she'd come. She had to face Joem again, but she did not care. Let him talk and leer. He was nothing in the scheme of things.

This time she did not even slow down as she approached The Mouth. _If he fell off the wall, what did she care?_ He noted her careless stride and stuck his back to the rock as she passed. She brushed him again, but did not look at or speak to him. She descended the steps, in much the same way.

Rhyse watched as she went down the narrow stepway. He liked everything about her—well, almost everything. She could be caustic over the smallest of things. Yet he supposed that was true of most women. But most women did not wield a long knife. And even though he'd never seen Jeren with her knife in her hand, after witnessing her shooting on the range today, he had no doubt but that she was deadly with hers.

What her visit tonight had been about, he did not know, but she intrigued him more every day. She was beautiful and dangerous—and that made her very desirable. She was so different from any other woman he'd ever known. She seemed fearless, but he thought that might be just so much show, when it came to things between women and men.

_Little did _he_ know…_

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**


	13. The Mission

Chapter 13: The Mission

A meeting was called the following morning, where Aragorn would announce the next scouting duty. They were gathered in the dining hall; the rangers were seated on the benches at the long tables used during the meals. Elladan and Elrohir stood with Aragorn before the others. Halbarad called the meeting to order then turned the floor over to Aragorn.

"We've received a report from Rivendell scouts that there are Orcs gathered several leagues from the borders of Mirkwood, near Rhosgobel. A large mass of them—meaning at least a hundred strong." The men grumbled throughout the room, causing Aragorn to hold his hands up for silence. "We do not know in which way they are directing themselves—further east to the Woodland Realm or westward, toward first Rivendell and then us here. We assume they originated in Dol Guldur."

The mumbling began again, but quickly subsided. "I need ten volunteers to take on this duty—and the task is to locate the group of Orcs and discover their destination. I ask no one to join a suicide mission. Your duty is only to gather information. This would allow me to confer with Rivendell, and perhaps even Mirkwood, as to what the next course of action might be."

There was a show of several hands. Rhyse had raised his immediately. Jeren's shot up as soon as she was sure Rhyse intended to be involved. Aragorn gave her a vexed look, but said nothing. He called out names—including Jeren's and Rhyse's—until he'd reached the total he sought.

"That is eleven," Joem said loudly. "If you counted the wench."

"I can count, Master Mouth," Aragorn said obviously irritated, to the quiet chuckles of many. To the remainder of the crowd he said, "You _eleven_, front and center; the rest of you—dismissed."

Lorn, Eldis, Ned, Brid, Rath, Joem, Dell, Ander and Will, along with Jeren and Rhyse stood to the front, near Aragorn and the twins. Joem was always included on a mission if he volunteered, because he was a big man who could wield a sword extremely well. He was an asset to a battle, although he was mostly disliked by those around him. Brid was his sole friend, and only because Joem was kin—his cousin.

"We leave tomorrow at first light. Take enough provisions to see through ten days," Aragorn said to them all. "Dismissed." He then added, "Joem, Rhyse and Jeren—stay."

After the others had gone Aragorn told Rhyse and Joem, "Your gate duty is hereby rescinded. Find others to cover for you." Aragorn then turned and spoke directly to Rhyse. "I had not told you this before, because there has been no need, but Jeren is banned from using weapons except upon orders from you. I do not expect there to be a need on this mission, but as her superior officer, you will have the final word."

He then turned to Jeren. "The directive is the same, as are the consequences for breaking it. Do you still swear to abide by my rule?"

"I do swear," Jeren replied without hesitation.

"Dismissed," he told them.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

They gathered just inside the gates the following morning as the sun crested the horizon—all were ready to ride. Jeren attached her bow to her pack, making sure it was securely fastened. As ever, she wore her long knife at her belt.

"Why do you not leave your bow here, Jeren?" Elrohir asked. "It will only cause you undue temptation."

"Would you leave any of your weapons behind, Elrohir?" Jeren asked him in return. When he did not answer, she felt perhaps a wee bit justified.

The gates were opened for the day and the riders went forth. They rode for many leagues, stopping occasionally to allow the horses to drink and rest, as well as for the riders to eat and drink and take care of personal needs. But as the morning drifted into afternoon, Eldis and Will rode ahead to scout the trail before them.

Aragorn's plan was to ride along the Bruinen until they reached the Misty Mountains. There they would traverse the peaks just beyond the northern border of Rivendell, where the crossing was easier. Going clear to the High Pass would take them far out of their way. This more southern passage would put them out of the mountains almost right onto the Old Forest Road. They would then cross the Anduin and would see what they would see. If they did not encounter the Orcs sometime sooner, the entire trip, going almost to Rhosgobel, would take them roughly five days.

It was late afternoon and Jeren felt that Aragorn would soon call a halt. She was already saddle weary, so she knew the men had to be too. They drew nearer a valley in the foothills, so all had to be on their guard. It was fast approaching the time of day when the sun was descending and the hills threw long shadows. The valley, being already shaded, would allow for Orcs to steal from their caves and shelters. The area they traveled was wooded, though not densely, so unless the Orcs were underground, they could be seen. But likewise, so could the rangers.

Jeren immediately noticed when Elladan urged his horse faster. She sat up in her stirrups, craning her neck to see if she could make out any disturbance ahead.

It wasn't long before she could see a single horse; its rider slumped in the saddle, coming toward them. Elladan pulled up next to him, obviously trying to hold the man upright. The entire company quickened its pace to meet them. Elladan stopped both horses and eased the man from his saddle. It was Eldis and he was riddled with Orc arrows.

There were so many black-fletched arrows piercing his body that Jeren knew Eldis did not have a chance of living. While most of the arrows had been aimed at his arms and legs, there was one in his chest that had to be fatal. That he'd lived this long was astonishing, unless the Orcs who had done this were only minutes away. Elladan sat him gently onto the ground, sitting down with him to keep him propped up so that his breathing might ease. Aragorn knelt on one knee at Eldis' side.

"I've lost Will," Eldis said brokenly, gasping as he tried to speak. He was sweating profusely and was deathly pale. "We were ambushed—they shot Will's horse from under him—he was alive when last I saw him—but I have no—hope for him—any—more." Just these few words had him coughing up blood.

"How many Orcs, Eldis?" Aragorn asked quietly, all the while brushing the hair from Eldis' forehead, like a father might a fevered child. "And how far are we from them?"

Eldis coughed again, then answered, "Fifteen at—least—I'm not—sure." After another spell of coughing, Eldis said brokenly, "Not far—and they come—this—way."

And then suddenly it seemed as if Eldis could no longer catch his breath, blood streaming from the side of his mouth. He struggled for a few more seconds and then he was gone.

With his hand still upon Eldis' brow, Aragorn bowed his head, whispering words Jeren could not make out. He then stood.

Elrohir and Elladan looked at each other, silently conferring. Then Elladan said, "They are almost upon us, but there aren't many—fifteen to twenty, I would say."

"We make a stand here," Aragorn said.

Everyone scattered to either side of the trail they'd been riding on. Two rangers picked up Eldis' body and hurried to hide it in the brush and trees.

Aragorn looked Jeren straight in the eyes and said, "You get up a tree and stay there. Rhyse, you are in charge of her." Rhyse nodded his understanding.

Elrohir said, "They are coming."

Aragorn unsheathed his sword.

Jeren took her bow from her pack along with her quiver. Elrohir caught her eye and shook his head at her, telling her without words to leave it and do as she had been told. But she would not.

No, she _could_ not. If Orcs were around she would not be defenseless, no matter if she were called to arms or not. She slung her bow over her shoulder and found a good stout tree to climb.

Before ten minutes had passed, even Jeren could hear the Orcs approaching. She cared not what anyone said at this point. She had her bow strung and an arrow notched. When she gave her word to Aragorn, she had not considered how the nearness of Orcs left her cautious and prickly. Yet she had no intention of firing at all. As long as the Orcs left her be, she should not need to go against Aragorn's directive.

The Orcs surged toward them. Eldis' count had been quite accurate. There were fourteen Orcs in the group. The obvious leader hurled insults at the rangers, all the while hoisting his short, curved sword aloft—and Will's head was impaled upon it.

Jeren's fingers itched to let go of her arrow, but she knew that the rangers would silence this Orcish hector*****. She watched as Orcs and rangers collided, black blood immediately flying, as Orc heads rolled. While the rangers were outnumbered, their prowess at fighting truly showed through against the undisciplined hacking of their enemy.

The battle had gone well; almost all the Orcs were dead or dying, the rangers making sure by running their twisted bodies through again and again. Jeren suddenly spotted, from her perch in the trees, a group of three more stealing in on the left. Elrohir was there, but he was looking at her and not at the Orcs. Jeren fired, but not soon enough. An Orc blade pierced Elrohir's side.

She notched another arrow and let it fly. She'd not take the chance the rangers could reach Elrohir in time to prevent the other two Orcs from finishing what their comrade had started. When both of the fiends were dead, and there were no more for anyone to kill, Jeren raced down the tree she'd been in and ran to where Elrohir lay. Elladan was already there, staunching the blood from Elrohir's wound with cloth he'd torn from Elrohir's own tunic.

"We must be away," Elrohir said, already breathing fast, but in spite of it, trying to rise. The wound he took was much the same as the one that had killed Anardil. "You hear them, Elladan. Many, many more are coming this way—and at some speed."

The others gathered the scattered horses, which hadn't gone far. The mounts were all trained to come when called or whistled for. Elladan had no time to tend to Elrohir's wound, which troubled him greatly. If this cut had been dealt with a poisoned blade, his brother could be in grave peril.

Yet as of now, they were all at grave risk. They knew not if this was the large group of Orcs the rangers had hunted, but if it were, they would perhaps have just under one hundred Orcs on their tails. While the Elves of the party could tell the enemies were many, the Orcs were so numerous, Elladan and Elrohir could not discern even near exact numbers.

Though the rangers were close to Rivendell land, they were far from the house. More importantly, they were far from the healing halls. The only crossing of the Bruinen that gave access to the dwellings of Imladris was almost a three-hour ride from here. Rivendell had originally been built as a fortress, and great Elven power protected its borders. Even the twins could not breach them without leave of their father.

They rode for more than an hour as fast as they could. Elladan kept his eyes on his brother, making sure he stayed in the saddle. It was well and truly dark by the time Elladan decided they could go no farther. Even with the waning moon's nearly full face, they could not risk the chance of ambush in the darkness. But more to the point—in Elladan's eyes—he could not allow any more time to pass without tending to his twin.

Aragorn dismounted and rounded on his brother. "What do you mean to be stopping now? There are perhaps a hundred Orcs on our trail, and what do you propose? To stop, and let them catch up with us?"

"I propose to tend to our brother, _Aragorn_," Elladan said, with not a small amount of ire in his tone. The use of Estel's proper name should have told Aragorn that he'd better pull back or he would more than likely be very sorry that he did not. "Or perhaps you have forgotten about him?"

"I have not forgotten, Elladan," Aragorn said. "But neither have I forgotten those two we left behind. I'll not be responsible for the deaths of any more of these men tonight."

"Will you then be responsible for the death of _my_ brother? Go on ahead—I do not stop you. But I will be stopping now, and tending to Elrohir."

Elrohir had by now dismounted and, holding his injured side, joined his brothers. Even in the dimness of the night, any who looked upon him could tell he was unwell. His movements were jerky as he wiped sweat from his brow.

"Children," he said uneasily, almost in a shout, "do not fight! I _hate_ it when you do that."

They were both surprised and turned to stare at him. In past times such as these, when harsh words were spoken between his other two brothers, Elrohir usually just told them both to shut up, and then they had all gone about their business. Elrohir's deep emotion in this situation was very unlike him.

"I can continue," Elrohir said, "although it probably would not be prudent. I feel strange. I am more than sure that Orc's blade was poisoned."

"We will stop for two hours," Aragorn said, "not a minute more."

"Agreed," Elladan said, and he let Elrohir lean on him as they made for the camp the others were already busily setting up.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Elrohir was tended and bandaged before long. He refused to lay flat. He seemed restless—tense and jittery. Not like himself at all.

The others lay down on their bedrolls, except for Elladan, Rhyse and Brid. They had the watch. Rhyse and Brid split up to walk the perimeter of the camp, while Elladan sat where he was. He and Elrohir would be aware if Orcs stole upon them as they rested.

Elladan's concern for Elrohir was great. He was sure, as Elrohir was, that the Orc blade had been poisoned. But besides the emotional outburst earlier, Elrohir was twitchy and sweating. These were not the same things Elladan and Anardil had experienced. Elladan would not let his brother out of his sight until he was sure Elrohir was not in extreme danger.

"Drink the tea, Elrohir," he directed for perhaps the fifth time. He'd steeped some Valerian in it in hopes that it would calm his twin. But Elrohir would take a small sip and place the cup aside to begin talking again—which he had been doing ceaselessly since they'd stopped. The scenario repeated itself over and over. Elladan was growing ever more concerned.

After an hour, Elrohir seemed calmer. He'd finally drunk all the tea. While the Valerian had slowed the spate of words, it had not stopped them. Elrohir made sense, he was just not acting like himself, saying things he would never dream of uttering at any other time.

"I fear I am losing my ability to fight, Brother," he said to Elladan. "This is the second battle in less than a month in which I've not had the upper hand with the Orcs. That's so unlike me."

Had the circumstances been different, Elladan would have laughed at that last remark. In his right mind, Elrohir would never have admitted such a thing to Elladan. It only confirmed that the blade that had cut Elrohir had been poisoned—and by the same poison Elladan and Anardil had been affected by. The fact that the effects were so extreme and had set in so fast had Elladan worried that Elrohir had taken in a huge dose of the toxin. Or perhaps that the Orcs had added something else to it. It was also apparent that all these Orcs had originated from the same place as the others who had ultimately slain Anardil with their poison.

When Elladan had finally been able to care for Elrohir's wound, he'd treated it as if it were toxic. He'd cauterized it, filled it with an herbal poultice and bandaged it tightly. He'd despaired that he'd had to wait for so long to tend it—but the Orcs were many, and Aragorn thought it best to put as much distance between them and the rangers as they could. He'd allowed them to stop for this short while only, so that Elrohir could be seen to and the others could get a short time of rest. Traveling in the dark was risky, but Aragorn obviously felt remaining where they were was riskier still. Orcs traveled by darkness, and the entire night loomed ahead of them.

Elladan greatly hoped he'd cared for Elrohir in time to prevent his twin from meeting Anardil's fate. While Elrond felt sure that this poison was not as harmful to Elves as it was to Humans, the deep wound was in a place difficult to treat, as Anardil's had been. Elrohir's reaction had been extreme. Elladan would not rest until time proved to him that what his father surmised was true—when Elrohir was again acting like himself and his wound began healing as it should.

"Lay back, Brother," Elladan said, "and let me look at that cut again."

"No, Elladan," Elrohir said, "you've only just gotten the bandage on. Leave it be."

"Elrohir," Elladan said patiently, "that was over an hour ago. I need to check on your injury. You remember what happened to Anardil, do you not?"

"Of course I remember," he said, "but you are mistaken. We just now sat down here. You've just finished taking care of it."

"Consider it, Brother," Elladan said softly. "Were that true, your side would be on fire still. I cauterized that wound—I'll bet most of the pain is gone by now."

Elrohir looked as if he were pondering what Elladan told him. "You're right, it no longer burns." Then Elrohir's brows came together. "You cauterized it? I do not remember that, and I would. That hurts!"

Again, had he not been so worried, Elladan would have laughed. But Elladan could not let go of the intense fear he had for his brother.

"You do not remember it because of the poison. Now Elrohir, you are just going to have to trust me. Lay back, please. I'm asking you."

Jeren had overheard the last part of this conversation. She got up from her bedroll and went to sit beside Elrohir.

"How are you feeling?" she asked him.

"I'm confused," he admitted. "Elladan is telling me things that I don't remember, yet I know he's not lying to me. I've seen first hand what this poison does to someone. I'm sure what he's saying is true. But it's all very strange."

"Then listen to him," she said. "Lay back and I'll stay with you. You can tell me anything you want to while he takes a look at that cut."

"I would like that," he said, as he laid himself down. She stretched out near him, on her side, hoping to comfort him this time, as he'd done for her so many times before.

"I worry about you, Jeren," he said. "I think that's why I'm performing so badly in battles lately."

Jeren closed her eyes; hearing Elrohir say this out loud hurt her to the bone. The last thing she wanted was for anyone to fret over her. But she pushed back the pain. "Why do you think that, Elrohir?" she asked him.

"I did not have this trouble concentrating until after your visit to the stronghold, when I knew you were wandering out there alone somewhere, and I couldn't help or protect you. That's when it started—during that ill-advised battle we should have never been in. I knew you were there. I would be fighting an Orc, and suddenly he'd have an arrow that had been fletched in Imladris sticking out of his ear! It could only have been you.

"And in the second battle—when it was just you and I—you were right, I put you in the tree so that you'd be protected, first of all." Elrohir glanced at Jeren, a contrite expression on his face, but he continued, in an almost defiant tone, "But I did not lie to you then; I still think it was the best place for you, given the circumstances. You brought down many Orcs before they got to me."

Jeren wiped at a tear that had escaped her eye. Elrohir was so unlike himself right now that it terrified her. Lying on her side, she'd propped herself up on her elbow while she listened to Elrohir, and now she caught Elladan's gaze. He was troubled too, she could tell.

"And then this evening," Elrohir continued, "I let them get too close. I was watching out for you, Jeren, not minding my business. This wound is entirely my fault and I deserve what I got."

Jeren made to protest, wanting to say that no one deserved to be attacked by an Orc, but Elrohir, as had been the case the entire night, was not finished talking.

"I would be dead were it not for you, Jeren," he told her. "You were minding the battle more than I. And to think, I had suggested you not even bring your bow. I'd be in Mandos' halls had you listened to me."

Jeren wanted to shush him, but thought less action might be the better choice in this situation. Perhaps the remark would go unheard, did she not make anything of it. She took a quick look around to see who might be listening. She'd not known—nor had she cared at the time—if anyone had been witness to her shooting down Elrohir's attackers. But now, since the crisis was over, she desperately hoped she'd not been seen. Her glance took in Aragorn and The Mouth, both of whom seemed to be asleep.

Elladan cut the bandage away, and slowly lifted the padding from Elrohir's wound. His face fell as he looked at the injury. Jeren knew it was bad news—she just wondered how bad.

"What do you see, Elladan?" Elrohir asked. "Is it worse?"

"Not worse, Elrohir," he said. "It is just filling with pus, like I knew that it would. But so far, the wound isn't black. That's a very good sign." Then Elladan looked Elrohir in the eyes. "However—and you aren't going to like this—I think I should burn it some more. I want to be very sure I've left none of that toxin in the injury."

Elrohir looked at Elladan suspiciously. "Are you sure that's why you want to burn it, Brother? The wound inside is not black, is it, and you're just trying to keep me calm by telling me it's fine?"

Jeren could see the look of concentration on the twins' faces that they got when they would mind speak to each other. Elladan was obviously opening his mind to his brother so that he could put Elrohir's mind at ease. After a few moments, though, Elrohir shook his head. "I can't sense you Elladan."

"It's probably from the effects of the toxin," Elladan told him. "I can barely sense you either."

"Regardless," Elrohir said, "unless you've taken up lying to me for sport, I can only believe you. Do it, Elladan."

Aragorn approached them and nudged Elladan with his boot. Elladan looked at the foot, then up at Aragorn with malice in his eyes.

"Let me," Aragorn said. "I've been wanting to get at him with a hot knife for some time now." Elladan's face gradually relaxed and he finally smiled. Aragorn just didn't want Elladan to have to put his twin through torment again. Elladan threw a couple of small limbs on the fire to stoke it, then placed his blade in the flames. He moved aside, allowing Aragorn to get closer.

"You'd better restrain me," Elrohir said, a look of trepidation on his face. "I do not promise not to move."

Jeren shifted to Elrohir's feet, ready to sit on his legs when it was time. She'd more than likely be kicked off, but she knew she did not have the strength to keep his upper body still. Elladan sat at his brother's head.

"Joem," Aragorn said loudly enough to be heard through the others' snores. "I need you here." When Joem got there, Aragorn told him to take Elrohir's feet.

Jeren did not protest, she just got up and gave her seat to Joem. In fact, she so badly did not want to see Elrohir go through this again, that she left the men to do what they would. She walked a distance into the woods; close enough to not be in danger, far enough away so as not to hear or be heard.

And there she crouched on the ground and shed silent tears, covering her face with her hands. She had just lost her father to this insidious poison and now Elrohir—someone she also loved to the bottom of her heart—was snared in its clutches. She did not hear Rhyse approach, so deep was her misery.

He pulled her up into his embrace and she let him hold her at first. But she suddenly seemed to become aware it was Rhyse, and she pushed him away and wiped at her eyes.

"I'm sorry," she said, embarrassed. "I meant not to disturb anyone."

"Do not be sorry for showing you are Human," he said. "I think you might have spent too much time with Elves. Either that, or with men."

She looked at him hard. "You can accept me as I am or not at all, Rhyse. It matters not to me." She was glad her voice sounded strong, even though she'd been weeping.

"That was truly not a criticism, Jeren," he replied, seeming disconcerted.

She did not answer him; she merely went on as if he had not spoken.

"As I said, it matters not. What does matter is that you are probably angry with me, but if not, you will be. I broke Aragorn's directive. Not only am I in trouble, but so are you, and because of me."

Rhyse frowned at her words. He'd forgotten about the need to order her to use weapons. She was so much a warrior he felt absurd having to command her to fight. That is why it had slipped his mind.

"Perhaps he'll not remember it, or cast it aside because you had a very good reason for breaking it."

"Mayhap the Bruinen will reverse its course," Jeren said with a short laugh. "Come now, Rhyse—you know he will not forget it. And if by chance he would, The Mouth will not let it go. For whatever reason he hates me. He is probably, as we speak, informing Aragorn that I have broken trust."

"The Mouth carries tales on everyone, so do not feel he hates you any more than anyone else. But do you think he noticed?" Rhyse asked her. "We were all busy slaying Orcs at the time. I did not see you do it."

"When does The Mouth not notice things he should not?" Jeren asked him in return. "He was at the archery trial; he heard me speak of the directive—everyone did. So he will have certainly been on the hunt for me to break it."

"I could tell Aragorn that I ordered you to arms. No more problem."

Jeren's heart fell, along with her esteem for Rhyse, to know that he would think that little of breaking trust; of lying, simply because it was convenient. _She did not know that Rhyse was testing her honesty, just as she tested his. _

She could not tell if she'd shown her disappointment in him on her face, and in the darkness, expression was probably ill conveyed, but Rhyse amended his prior word.

"I will not tell him that. Worry not," Rhyse said kindly. "I've been disciplined before. I'm sure to be again. Your reason was sound and I neglected my duty. 'Twas my own fault, too."

Jeren tried not to hear, but Elrohir's anguished cries now rent the air.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Jeren fell into Rhyse's arms again, covering her ears to drown out the distressing sounds Elrohir made. Rhyse placed his hands over hers, which further cut off her hearing. They stayed that way until Rhyse brought her face up to his, his hands moving to the back of her head, just behind her ears. He kissed her long and deep.

The stitched place on Rhyse's lip was scratchy against Jeren's skin. And it was obvious that he'd not shaved in a day or three. But when he opened his mouth to explore hers with his tongue, a question was answered for her—if this type of kissing were an Elvish trick, or did others indulge in it as well? She now knew that they did.

She got swept away in his passion, her tongue assaulting his. She felt as if she could devour him, and she longed to rip at his tunic until it was out of her way.

After several more heated seconds, Rhyse became aware of his surroundings again; all had grown quiet, yet a twig snapped under a wayward foot—something he could not ignore. He quickly kissed her lips twice more, reluctant to pull away, but did so just the same. Duty called.

They both looked in the direction of the sound that they'd heard. Elladan was standing there, awash in moonlight from a break in the trees. His Elven glow plainly showed his features. Jeren knew he had wished his presence known; no Elf was careless enough to snap a branch underfoot unless he wanted to be heard.

Jeren's heart clenched at the thought that she'd been disloyal; yet Elladan looked right at her and gave her a half smile. But then he said, "We break camp soon. Come. Make ready." He melted into the trees.

She had no reason to think it was so, but she felt as if he'd just told her goodbye.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"El-ro-hir, you should wake now. Your father calls you."

Elrond was bent over his son's bed, drawing out Elrohir's name—almost as a song—calling him from a healing sleep. Elrohir had yet to stir. Elrond sighed and straightened his back. He would try again in a little while. The morning was yet very young.

Aragorn and Elladan had come dragging Elrohir into Imladris during the witching hours of last night. It seemed that Elrohir had been the only one injured in the latest attack by Orcs, although Elrond was saddened to hear that the rangers had lost two more of their own. The Elf lord had sent his other sons to bed—at their extreme protest—and had then put Elrohir into a deep, healing sleep, in order to examine the wound in his side. He'd wanted neither of the other two near him, wanted no distractions as he checked to make sure that he had been right about this poison—that this wound would not develop necroses and kill this son.

He breathed a huge sigh of relief when he had explored the wound to his satisfaction and had found only very bad infection. He thanked the Valar again and again. He'd not known what he would have done had the examination revealed bad results, but thankfully, he need not find out.

And now, he called Elrohir once more. He wasn't alarmed or worried that his son did not awaken, because Elrond knew it was simply a matter of time. It was no longer Elrond's power that was keeping Elrohir sleeping, but Elrohir himself, in need of very much rest.

Elladan came into the healing halls a few minutes later to see to his twin. He barely acknowledged his father, something Elrond did not fail to notice. He wondered at this son's attitude. They had parted on very good terms when last Elladan left. Elrond wondered just what could be rousing Elladan's ire at this hour of the morning. A night up worrying over Orc poison had left Elrond's mood less than ideal.

The Elf lord motioned for Elladan to follow him out onto the veranda. If things got heated, he did not want to disturb Elrohir, even though it seemed as if nothing could at this point. As soon as Elladan had cleared the entry, Elrond shut the door with a quiet click.

"It appears as if something is amiss with you," Elrond said. "What would that be? I'll not have any dissembling from you—speak plainly. I've no time for beating about the bush, as it were."

"I'll not dissemble, if you will not exercise your authority as my father," Elladan said, as plainly as he might.

Elrond had been thinking that Elladan's nose was simply out of joint at being banned from the healing halls last night. And from the sound of things, that was probably indeed the case, since Elrond had used that particular phrasing when he'd ushered Elladan and Aragorn out of the room the night before.

"You know I cannot agree to such terms. Keep your sulk to yourself, then." Elrond turned to go back inside.

"You had no right to run to Jeren with _Peredhil tales_, Father," Elladan said. His jaw was clenched so tightly, it was a wonder words could even make it through his teeth.

Elrond stopped just before he reached for the door latch. He turned and said, "I told you I would use my authority as your father, and I will not have you speak to me in such a way."

"How would you have me speak, Father? I am angered—I feel betrayed by you. You told me I could trust you, yet with the first opportunity, you ran to Jeren with stories to elicit sympathy from her. You speak of trust, yet you seem to not even be aware of what the word means."

Elrond looked at his son, not knowing what exactly he could say. He was guilty. He knew it and so did Elladan. He knew not how to explain what he felt to his son—how to explain and not weep like a child. For that is what he felt like doing when he thought of losing any one of his children to this 'Peredhil tale', as Elladan so aptly called it.

So Elrond simply said, his voice quiet, "Now that you have had your say, you hear me. Listen and listen well, for you will never have the opportunity to hear me utter these words again as long as you live, _however_ _long that might be_: You are right and I was wrong. Can we now move beyond this?"

Elladan was stunned. Whatever he thought his father might say, this was not it. He thought about agreeing and having them both go about their ways. Yet he knew the bitterness in him would only grow, until he understood his father's heart.

"No," Elladan said, "we cannot move on. I would know why you felt compelled to speak to her, after I spilled my heart to you in what I thought was confidence."

"You have no sons nor daughters, Elladan," Elrond said, his voice grave. "I know not how to explain it to you so that you would understand. You have no reference with which to compare it."

"I have no reference, yet you would deny me to ever seek it," Elladan said, the anger in his voice turning bittersweet.

Elrond looked at his son, the puzzlement plain on his face.

Elladan looked away and wiped briefly at his eyes with the fingers of one hand. He then faced Elrond again. "I have no hope of sons or daughters, Father, if I am Elven. If I chose a Human life, at least I could hope for children."

He walked to the rail surrounding the veranda and turned to face Elrond again. "Arwen is perhaps the youngest Elf in all of Arda, Father. You had the last of the Elflings. Elves no longer seek to give life. There is virtually no hope of sons or daughters for me, unless I choose a Human mate. And you would not allow me to choose freely, it would seem, no matter the reasons I might have."

"I knew not you felt this way—," Elrond started.

"—You did not ask, Father," Elladan said. "You simply told. You merely thought to exert your will, no matter what I thought about the subject."

"I am sorry, Elladan," Elrond said, shame coloring his tone. He walked to Elladan and placed his hands on his son's shoulders. "I knew not you even thought about having young ones of your own. It never occurred to me."

"I suppose I've spent too much time with the Dunedain, Father," Elladan said. "I've helped with so many of their births—tended their children when they became ill. Elenmere's children were as close as I hoped to come to ever having any of my own. But it is a wish and a dream of mine.

"I doubt if Jeren is in my future. There are too many obstacles in our way. For one thing, I know not if I love her well enough to bond with her for a lifetime. And she has met a ranger who would be far better suited to her. She wants to do battle, but I would have her pregnant every year, would I get my wish. And you and I both know that is probably not even possible for her. That Orc attack left her so damaged, she probably cannot hold a child within long enough for it to be born alive. So I am torn when it comes to her. I do love her, but do I love her enough? This one thing I cannot leave. This is what I have been agonizing over for the past few months. But I know myself, and _if_ I choose Humanity, I want the entire parcel, not just a part of it."

"You have given the whole concept much thought," Elrond said. "I would never have known." He walked a few paces away, then turned back to his son. "What would you have me do to make this right, Elladan?"

"Nothing, Father. No real harm was done—this time. I only want your word, that if I were to bring a woman to Imladris that I loved and thought to bond with, that you would leave the _Peredhil tale _for _me_ to tell her. It is my choice and my tale."

"You have my word, son," Elrond said sincerely.

They both were startled when the door opened and a disheveled Elrohir poked his head through the entry.

"What does one have to do," Elrohir asked, his voice heavy with sleep, "to get some food around here? I am starving."

**o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o_o-o_o_o_o_**

*hector—as defined in Samuel Johnson's Dictionary, p. 238; n.s. (from the name of Hector, the great Homeric warriour.) A bully; a blustering, turbulent, pervicacious, noisy fellow.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**A/N: I want to thank my four dear reviewers. You have no idea how encouraging it is to know there are people reading and following this story. I am almost to the end of this tale—only a couple more chapters left. **


	14. The Failings

Chapter 14: The Failings

Jeren woke slowly the following morning, reveling in the softness of her familiar bed in Rivendell. The pale light of dawn slowly eased the darkness from the room, coloring her walls the deepest mauve. She was weary still, but knew she must greet the day soon. She had much to accomplish in a very short time.

She stretched and yawned, not yet ready to rise. She allowed her mind to wander while she gained the energy needed to throw back the covers and get to her feet.

Elrohir. She wondered how he fared. That would be her first stop this morning—the healing halls to inquire after him. Then she must visit Glorfindel. She had a most important question for him, before anything else could be done.

She yawned again, scrubbing at her eyes with her fists. Unbidden, an image of Rhyse came to her mind. She remembered last night, the feel of his mouth against hers. Her reaction to him had been quite unexpected. She had accepted his kiss readily, and before she had even given it much thought, had begun savoring it.

It made her angry with herself. How could she be so fickle? She had professed her love to Elladan mere nights ago. _Was she a liar? _How could her heart change allegiance so quickly as to betray the love she had harbored for Elladan these past several years?

Yet when Elladan had made himself known in the woods last night—and it was obvious that he had seen them—she had not glimpsed any evidence of betrayal or anger in his face. He had almost seemed relieved.

He had told her before that he loved her, but she knew it was not the same love that she held for him. That he cared for her, she had no doubt, but since talking with him, she now knew that he truly did not love her enough. He'd told her just that. And she knew it would never be enough, no matter how many years he put into trying to make it more. That had shown plainly on his face last night, just before he'd turned and left her with Rhyse.

Did she love Rhyse? A resounding 'no' echoed in her mind. She did not yet know Rhyse enough to make any such claim. She liked him—very much. He could tempt her, that was for certain. She'd known when she'd seen him on the wall night before last that she found him attractive. She fought it, but it was true. _Had they been alone last night—and under much different circumstances—she was not sure she would not have had her way with him!_

She searched her heart—yes, Elladan was still there. Would he ever leave her be? Would her heart ever be free of this snare in which Elladan had entrapped it?

She shook her head and rose. These questions were for some other day. She had others to answer for now.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Jeren went to see Elrohir in the healing halls. He was asleep. Lord Elrond was nowhere to be seen; she supposed he had stepped out on an errand. She had no doubt but that he would return soon, but his absence encouraged her. She knew that Lord Elrond would be here attentively, had Elrohir been in any danger.

Elrohir slept with his eyes closed. That might have concerned Jeren, for she knew Elves did not usually go into deep sleeps—they sank into a reverie—walking the dream paths, they sometimes called it. But in a discussion she'd had about it with Lord Elrond, he'd told her that it was possible for Elves to close their eyes in true sleep, especially if exhaustion or severe injury was the cause.

She smoothed the hair from Elrohir's brow and dropped a kiss on his cheek. Elrohir did not stir, but that did not worry her. She had experienced Lord Elrond's healing sleep enough times to recognize it for what it was. Elrohir slept peacefully; the twitchy agitation he suffered last night was gone. She thanked the Valar for sparing his life.

Jeren then made her way to the armory, sure she would find Glorfindel there or in the near vicinity. He seemed to eat and breathe war, so if he wasn't holding a weapon he was not far from one. Even though the sun was not yet above the rim of the valley, Jeren knew Glorfindel would be preparing for that which she must now inquire of him.

He glanced up at her approach and then returned to honing the blade in his hand. Jeren was sure the dagger did not need its edge improved, but she supposed to Glorfindel, everything could be improved.

"To what do I owe the honor of your presence, Girl?" he asked her. He always addressed her as such. _Girl. Why could he not have affixed 'Woman' as his name for her?_

His voice ever fascinated her. His frame was large—even for an Elf. While most Elves were of slighter build, Glorfindel was muscled like no other Elf that Jeren had seen, and his height was greater than most. He was blond, where the majority of the Imladris Elves were dark. Yet his voice was soft. Quiet steel. She didn't think she'd ever heard him raise it, not even in frustration when a novice did not do a drill correctly. That was not to say he was not intimidating. The soft voice only lulled one into thinking nothing was amiss, but watch! And listen closely. His words, while quiet, could cut like a blade.

"I heard the others last night, making plans for this morning to continue the hunt for the Orcs we sought. I would ask you—might I ride with the Imladris Elves?"

"What? Not with the rangers?" Glorfindel asked with the slightest of grins. "Has the glow from their stalwart hearts already dimmed for you?"

"Their glow to me is ever in place," Jeren answered. "However, my glow to them is nonexistent. And I wish to be a part of this hunt. Might I go with you and the Elves?"

"Do I hear the faintest lilt of trouble in the air?" he asked her. Glorfindel's demeanor was such that most of the time you could not tell if he were jesting, but Jeren had no doubt that he was now, and at her expense.

"You might. And I might ask have you heard of trouble concerning me? Especially, perhaps, from Lord Aragorn?"

"Ah, methinks you speak of a broken directive, hmmm? Would that be to which you are referring?"

Jeren's heart fell. _So much for no one being the wiser that she had shot the Orcs who attacked Elrohir._

"Yes, Lord Glorfindel," Jeren answered, as smoothly as she might. "That would be to what I am referring."

"There is much talk of it," he replied, "though I've not heard a word of it from Estel."

Jeren knew then that The Mouth was ever doing his most cherished activity—tending to others' business and spreading rumors and gossip—and in this case, things true.

Glorfindel looked at her intently for a moment, then said, "Tell me this: why would I allow a rule-breaker to ride with me?" Jeren could tell by his expression that the question was not meant in scorn. She could see opportunity here—if only she answered correctly.

"You would allow a rule-breaker to ride with you," she said with as much confidence as she could, "if she had good reason to break the rule, by witnessing peril and, knowing the consequences, breaking the rule anyway."

One of Glorfindel's eyebrows rose just a notch, as if he were thinking about her answer, yet he did not say anything.

He resumed the honing of the dagger.

She waited for a few moments, hoping he would say something—anything to break this annoying silence. Yet the only sound that came from him was the noise of the blade abrading against the whetstone.

He finally looked at her again and said, "I will consider your request. Now leave me. I have things that need thinking about."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Even though Jeren did not know if she would be riding out this morning, she went to the stables to get Two ready. It never hurt to be prepared.

Joem and Brid were already there. Jeren cursed her bad luck, but it really did not matter. She had nothing to say to The Mouth. She only hoped he had nothing to say to her. _Things could get mean._

Jeren went to her mare's stall, first finding a blanket to place beneath the saddle. She fed Two an apple she'd brought, and took some time to fuss over the horse and murmur kind words as she ran her hands over the sleek, brown coat. She then lifted a bridle from the nail on the wall and proceeded to put it on Two.

An eerie feeling washed down her neck; she knew she was being watched. And she knew who watched her. She only wished to know why Joem had such resentment toward her. Rhyse had assured her he begrudged most people, but Jeren could not fathom that the other rangers would endure him, were he not at least somewhat accepted by them.

She was startled—as was Two—when a large hand clapped down on the horse's rump. Jeren grabbed the mare's bridle, all the while settling Two with soothing, Elvish words that Elrohir had taught her.

Joem laughed. He was alone. Brid had taken his horse out of the stable. That meant Jeren and Joem were the only ones there. Jeren tamped down a momentary jolt of concern—she knew she could take care of herself.

"Where would you be heading to on this fine morning?" Joem asked her.

She didn't answer, she continued putting the saddle on her horse.

"I asked you a question, wench," he said, as he stepped closer.

How Jeren wished at the moment that Two was not such a well-mannered horse. She would laugh in Joem's face if the mare kicked him now. Yet she still did not look at or answer him.

"I know not how you could possibly think that you are better than me," he said in a louder tone. "You've lain with Orcs—that makes you no better than one of them."

She looked at him then, and she was sure her face showed every ounce of contempt she felt for him. "If that makes me no better than an Orc, what is your excuse, then, for being _worse_ than one?"

She thought she might have provoked him with her answer, but he only laughed. He circled around to the opposite side of Two, looking at Jeren across the mare's back.

"I might be rough in some ways, _darling_," he said, "but at least I'm no coward. I have a wager going with my friend Brid that you won't be returning to the stronghold with us when we go. You've broken that directive the Chieftain set down for you. You do not have the guts to go face your punishment. And since Rhyse was acting as your superior officer, you'll leave the exalted son of Halbarad to take both his discipline and yours besides."

"Think what you will," Jeren said, "but be prepared to pay your lost wager."

_Son of Halbarad? Rhyse was Halbarad's son?_

Jeren had given much thought to not returning to the stronghold. What point was there to continue fighting to become a ranger? She had been thwarted at every turn. The men detested her and would never be persuaded to rally to her side and vote to allow her to be recruited. And last night's exhaustive rambling of Elrohir, in which he confessed his worry over her, had made Jeren think twice about becoming a ranger of the Dunedain. He had been hunting Orcs with the rangers for years. What right did she have to endanger his life by joining in their battles any more? _Today was different. Elrohir would not be riding with them._

And she also thought if she were not at the stronghold, the broken directive, as well as the punishment, would be forgotten. It had not occurred to her that Rhyse might still be held accountable for her actions, even though she was no longer present.

"I doubt I'll be paying, darling," Joem said, "but either way, I'll laugh long and hearty when good old Rhyse gets the beating he deserves."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Mindless of whether Joem was in her way or not, Jeren backed Two out of the stall. She led the mare out into the stable yard, where Brid already waited. Before long, rangers and Elves alike were going into the stable to retrieve their mounts and then returning to the stable yard in preparation for the hunt today.

They were leaving to find the large horde of Orcs that plagued the countryside of late. The Elves were joining the rangers to see their original task finished. But now, when the task was completed, not only would they know the whereabouts of the hundred strong Orc host, the Orcs would be finished—dead—gone and burned.

Glorfindel had arrived with Asfaloth, his white Elven horse. Thirty of Imladris' Elven force were gathered with him. Celduin and Tarmenel greeted Jeren—they had been with the twins when she had been rescued those many years ago, and had helped with her training here in Rivendell.

As Aragorn approached her, he said, "You are not going. I forbid it."

Jeren resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "As I see it, you cannot forbid it. You are not my father, and even if you were, I am of age. I am not a ranger that you may give your orders to. I've been allowing others to determine my path for far too long as it is, and I mean to stop it."

"You obviously need someone besides yourself to determine your path," Aragorn said. "You seem to not use the sense the Valar gave you—someone more wise must lead you by the hand, lest you do yourself harm."

Jeren fought down the instinct to strike back at him. His words hurt her, but she supposed she should not be surprised by his attitude. She had joined in an ill-fated battle that had seen nine rangers lose their lives. Even though that was not Jeren's fault, and her actions may have helped those rangers more than any might know, she had not been authorized to be there. Her father, and those like him, had felt a certain betrayal by her for even being near that battle—after the Chieftain himself had denied her entry into the rangers' ranks. And, as Jeren had seen for herself during the past week, Aragorn cared a great deal for all the men under his command, and she supposed he felt somewhat of a responsibility for her, too.

"Sensible or not," Jeren said, "I am trained and ready—another bow to add when killing the menace. Why would someone wise, as you say, turn down a willing bowman?"

"I'll not enter into a word war with you," Aragorn said mildly. "You will stay. That's my final decision."

"Again—I am not a Dunedain ranger," Jeren said, "Nor do I have a hope of becoming one. You've made that very clear. I therefore do not answer to you."

Aragorn's jaw clenched as he fought his frustration.

"She rides with the Imladris force," Glorfindel said. He'd been standing there for some time, although not obviously listening. Jeren gave a silent cheer for this one tiny victory.

Aragorn did not show his surprise, if indeed he was.

"Are you willing to burn your bridges, Jeren?" Aragorn asked her.

"If you are referring to the expansive gulf between me and my desire to fight among the rangers of the Dunedain, I believed that bridge to never exist. You have told me, and Elrohir has reinforced it—I will never be a ranger with you. There is no bridge to burn."

"Very well. Glorfindel, she rides with you. You will have the burden of explaining it to Elrond, should things go ill." Aragorn, seeming unmoved by the discussion, and certainly not angry, strode to his horse and mounted.

"I accept that burden," Glorfindel said to Aragorn's back, "although no ill will befall us this day." Glorfindel laughed to reinforce his opinion that things were being taken too seriously for his liking.

Jeren was surprised by Aragorn's smile as he sat upon his horse. He obviously was not as opposed to her going as he let on.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

The group rode out of the valley, crossing the Bruinen an hour later. They rode until they reached the campsite where the rangers had rested the night before. They dismounted and Aragorn explained the plan.

Glorfindel, as well as Celduin, Tarmenel and six other Elves would ride out, scouting north, in the direction from which the rangers had come last night, going in search of known caves and caverns large enough to house the Orcs they sought. Ten more of the Elven force, led by Elladan, would scout in the opposite direction, using their senses to guide them. They would all return to this rendezvous point in three hours' time, unless they found what they sought before then. All the others would wait for the scouts' return.

Jeren spent the time visiting with some of the Elven warriors. While she was not close to many of them, there were a few that she had grown to have a genuine friendship with. Most of the Elves in the force, Jeren knew, had a certain grudging respect for her, if for no other reason than her gritty determination to see a task done and done well.

Her friendship with Tarmenel and Celduin had assured her admittance into the Elven circle, something that was at times difficult for Humans to accomplish when it came to Elves. It was not that Elves were unfriendly, but all Elves tended to guard themselves against heartbreak, and having Human friends always ended in grief. Those Human friends, even if they weren't killed in battle, ultimately deserted an Elven friend in death.

Joem turned to Rhyse and said quietly, but loud enough for Jeren to hear, "Are you ready for your discipline, Rhyse, for not ordering the wench to arms?"

Rhyse looked at Joem with contempt. "How do you know I did not order her to arms?"

"She all but told me this morning in the stable," Joem said, and he laughed.

Jeren cursed her stupidity! How could she have fallen into Joem's trap? If she had just kept quiet. But no, she'd had to rise to his baiting.

Jeren's attention was caught once again, when she heard Joem say, "Chieftain, what will you do with the errant wench now? If she no longer rides amongst us, I suppose her breaking your edict will no longer result in her punishment?"

Instinctively Jeren sought Rhyse's eyes and found them boring right into hers. Trying to keep her attention unnoticed, Jeren looked quickly to Aragorn. He was staring at Joem, and his eyes flinched ever so slightly.

"What I decide to do with rule-breakers is of no concern to you, unless you consider yourself one of them." Aragorn looked at Joem as if he wished him gone. "But since we speak openly about those whose character is brought to attention because of ill-deeds, perhaps we should speak of yours."

Joem looked abashed, as if he were afraid of hearing what Aragorn might be thinking, but he wisely kept silent.

"You obviously need lessons in holding your tongue, Master Mouth," Aragorn said quietly. "What should your punishment be, for minding everyone's business along with your own?"

Those gathered around looked everywhere but at the two men conversing. The uneasiness of them all was palpable.

Joem swallowed audibly, but still did not comment.

Jeren could tell Aragorn was now somewhat enjoying himself. His brows rose as if he reflected on what such a punishment might be.

"If I hear—or it gets brought to my attention—that you speak out of turn again, _you_ will be disciplined. Is that clear, Joem?"

Joem dipped his head, obviously ashamed, then he nodded. But Aragorn was not satisfied, Jeren was happy to notice.

"Is—that—clear?" Aragorn repeated, just a little more loudly.

"Yessir," was Joem's quiet reply.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Two hours later, the group of Elves led by Elladan returned to the campsite. They had been successful in locating the Orcs—all eighty-some-odd of them—in a cave about an hour's ride south from where the others had been waiting. The Orcs were sleeping the day away, crammed into a too small cavern, one atop another like so many wolf cubs asleep in a den. The scouts had not gone near them, fearing the Orcs might wake and get wise to the fact that trouble was brewing. Elladan now conferred with Aragorn, telling him of the Orcs' location and the lay of the land surrounding the cave, drawing diagrams in the dirt at their feet.

The place itself was in somewhat of a clearing, but rocks and boulders—plenty of cover in both stone and trees—surrounded its mouth. There would be ample room to set up an ambush, when the Orcs left the cavern at the end of the day.

Half an hour later, Glorfindel's group returned, and they were very happy to hear of the others' success in finding their prey. They had, of course, seen signs of them, but the trail was cold and their senses had not told of any Orcs near them.

Aragorn, Elladan and Glorfindel firmed up the plan, doling out orders to all the warriors. Jeren was, as she expected to be, with the archers, which suited her just fine. Rhyse and Ander would also be using their bows, as were four of the Elves. The archers would send three volleys of arrows into the horde, which would in all likelihood break their ranks. Then the others would put them to the sword, with the archers picking off those of which they had clear shots. With all the rangers and Elves, their side had ample power to make short work of these Orcs.

They rested where they were until mid afternoon, when they mounted and rode to within half a league of the cave. They left their horses, traveling the rest of the distance on foot. Elladan and Glorfindel placed the archers where they thought they would be the most effective.

Before leaving them there, Elladan handed his and Elrohir's quivers to Jeren. "You will need more arrows. And Elrohir wanted me to shoot a few Orcs for him, but I have elected to use my sword, so I wondered would you do the honors for him?"

Jeren reached for the quivers, feeling somehow awed to even touch them. As she took them and placed them beside her, she said, "I would be privileged to pierce a few of these brutes for him." Elladan smiled at her and made his way down the rocks to his position with the swordsmen. Rhyse nudged Jeren good-naturedly and smiled, but didn't say anything. He knew, as well as she did, that she had just been given a great honor.

They waited for more than an hour, until the sun drew below the rocks and trees to shadow the clearing. Finally it was apparent that the Orcs were astir. All outside the cave were tense and completely still; it would not do for their prey to get wind of them before the beasts even left their shelter.

But finally the time was at hand. The Orcs came pouring out of the cave's mouth without care or caution, and arrows rained down on them. As expected, they scattered in all directions, right into the waiting swords. Jeren took aim over and over, piercing through ears and eyes and hearts with clean, precise shots. She took her time, making every arrow count.

There were so many Orcs, there was even an occasion when Joem needed help. Even though he had been nothing but trouble for her, she aimed and fired in rapid succession, felling the trio of Orcs assailing him. Since he was facing her at the time, he saw exactly what she'd done. She, however, had moved on to other targets that needed killing.

Jeren had not always been a good bowman. It took her long to build up the muscles in her arms to the point where she could extend a bowstring fully. Her father had despaired that she would ever gain the strength, so that was when he introduced her to the long knife, which she loved wielding. When she began training in Rivendell, Glorfindel had made her tediously extend the bowstring fully, over and over and over, until she thought she would go mad from doing it. The blisters on her fingertips had bled for days, until Lord Elrond insisted she wear some gloves, but in the end, once she had the required strength and stamina, she proved a natural at the bow.

This afternoon, her calm detachment allowed her to aim and fire almost by rote. She would choose a target, aim and fire, again and again, noting the results and whether the next shot could be improved or not. She noticed Rhyse's shots, as well. He was also an excellent archer. _Mayhap even as good as she. Mayhap..._

The entire battle took almost an hour, and when it was over, all the Orcs, save one, were dead or dying. Rangers and Elves walked through the carnage, running through those Orcs who still had life. Elladan was holding the lone survivor at sword point. He had questions for this beast. But first, with help from Glorfindel, he bound the Orc's hands and feet. They shoved him aside, into the dirt.

Jeren and the other archers retrieved their arrows and then helped the others pile the dead Orcs into a heap to set afire. They sat and waited for the fire to abate and while they did, Elladan, along with Aragorn and Glorfindel, interrogated the Orc they had taken prisoner.

And they interrogated him torturously. At least Elladan did. Aragorn and Glorfindel sat by dispassionately as Elladan inflicted slow torment on the creature. Jeren found herself sickened by it. She, more than most, hated Orcs passionately, but she was not prepared to witness this mistreatment. She knew why it must be done, she was only thankful that she would not be the one having to inflict it. She had been tortured by Orcs herself—beaten, kicked and used repeatedly. Even though Orcs deserved no mercy, in Jeren's eyes, she could not help but feel a little sorry for this one.

And in the end, Elladan ran his sword through the Orc's heart, none the wiser as to what new poison the Orcs were using. That had been his main reason in capturing the beast at all. The Orc had given up the fact that they were out of Dol Guldur, which was something the rangers and Elves had already heavily suspected. The Orc had boasted of the Dark Lord's awesome power, which might or might not have been fact. All in all, it was wasted effort—and something Jeren would never forget.

She had seen a side of Elladan—as well as Aragorn and Glorfindel—that she would rather have never seen. Aragorn and Glorfindel had slapped the brute a few times, and had seemed detached from their actions. But Elladan looked as if he gained some sort of satisfaction from the Orc's suffering, and that left Jeren cold. Yet she supposed Elrohir's distress was still fresh in Elladan's mind. And long ago, Elladan had found his mother in the possession of Orcs who had been torturing her for days. If anyone was justified in his actions, Jeren thought, it would be him. She would never fault him for dispelling his demons in this way.

When the fire was only a slow smolder, the warriors left. There had been no casualties on their side at all. No rangers or Elves were injured in the battle. Jeren thanked the Valar as they headed back to Rivendell.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"Lord Aragorn, might I have a word with you?"

Jeren had sought out the Chieftain later that evening, and had found him alone with a book in the library. His demeanor was in stark contrast to the hard interrogator he was this afternoon. He was completely at his leisure, wearing clothing of Elvish construct, and not his usual ranger garb—and his feet were bare.

She had sought him in order to inquire about the discipline she may or may not be bound to—and whether Rhyse would be held accountable for her actions, even if she did not return to the stronghold. This would be the deciding factor as to whether she went back to the settlement or not.

"Of course," he said quietly while closing the book. And he actually smiled at her. _That made her wary._

He was sitting on a low stone wall, leaning against a pillar, one foot propped up beside him, the other on the floor. The wall opened into a beautiful garden, alight this evening with many lanterns. It might seem strange to have books where there was obviously much moisture, but there were shutters that could be pulled closed in the event of foul weather; and the Elves had many devices that might conquer many problems, and in Imladris, books and moisture didn't seem to mind each other all that much.

He sat up straight, placing both feet on the floor, and motioned for her to sit there beside him. She would really have rather stood, but she had been very insubordinate to him this morning, and thought not to make him angry right off.

He looked at her expectantly, so she said, "I was wondering about the discipline—since I did break your directive. First of all, what would it be?"

"The whip," he said, a slight frown on his face.

She thought about that. The whip was not so bad—to her. Her father had disciplined her many times, and while it wasn't pleasant, it was not the end of all things, either. But she had Rhyse to consider, if he would still be held responsible for her—she would not have him endure it alone.

She decided to tell Aragorn exactly her thoughts. She needed guidance after all. Who better to give it to her than her Chieftain, regardless of what she told him this morning?

"I had thought not to return to the stronghold," she told him. "I am not wanted there—by almost everyone—and as I told you earlier today, I am finally convinced there is no hope for my becoming a ranger at all."

"Yet the very actions that broke the directive might have brought your esteem up in the eyes of the men," Aragorn said. "You can be assured they will hear of it—Rhyse likes you much, and I think he would be very happy were you allowed in. You might rethink you stance."

"I would like to," Jeren said, "but there is more to consider."

"Such as?"

"Elrohir," Jeren stated solemnly. "Did you hear him talking last night?"

"It was hard to keep from hearing him talk, since he was doing so much of it," he declared.

"True," Jeren agreed. "But did you hear him specifically when he spoke about his fear for me, when he thought I might be in danger? And how it was affecting his concentration in battle?"

Aragorn leaned against the pillar again and placed his foot back onto the wall, resting an elbow on his knee. "Yes, I did hear that. What about it particularly bothers you?"

"Elrohir has fought with the Dunedain for years. I have no right to infringe upon that, especially when it endangers his life."

"For centuries," he said mildly. At her questioning glance, he added, "Elrohir has fought with the Dunedain for centuries. And I see your point, but I believe this difficulty he has is not something he cannot overcome. He is an Elf, you know." He smiled at her again.

"It sounds as if you would not be against my becoming a ranger after all," Jeren said, the confusion in her tone undisguised. "I always thought you were against me. All this time I might have had an ally in you, but for whatever reason, you chose not to share your mind with me. Why was that, Lord Aragorn?"

He looked at her for a few moments before answering her.

"I was never against you, Jeren," he said. "But I had allegiances to others that kept me from showing you my true feelings on the matter."

"My father and Lord Elrond must be of whom you speak," she said. "And perhaps Elladan and Elrohir."

He nodded. Then he told her something she did not expect.

"I've watched you—when I could—during the last two battles at which you were present. In the first one—you were forbidden to use a weapon, but you did so anyway. I saw you as you shot the Orcs that got to Elrohir. You were caught in the act—and by me. I have still to ask Rhyse if he ordered you to arms, yet from what you have just admitted to me, I know what his answer will be.

"And today, when I had the chance, I watched you. What I mean to be getting at is I saw you in battle. You are focused, precise and move with an economy of motion. You have learned your lessons from Glorfindel well. You are an outstanding bowman. My one recommendation would be to gain swordsmanship. You are too vulnerable with only a long knife—your reach is too limited. As long as you are fighting Orcs, that is not a large difficulty. Their scimitars are also short, with limited reach, much to their repeated downfall, thank the Valar. But were you to be fighting a man, he would do you in quickly, because you have inadequate range with a long knife."

"Thank you, Lord Aragorn," Jeren said. "A warrior ever wishes to know what her superiors think of her worth in battle."

"You have worth in battle, Jeren," he assured her. "You do lack experience and you are too much of an independent thinker, yet I am glad that such was the case in the battle in which Elrohir was injured. But it is an error that needs mending."

"I have another question, but it concerns Rhyse," she said. "If I were not to return with you to the stronghold, would he still be held to the discipline, since he was considered my superior officer?"

"Unfortunately, yes," he told her. "Were it not so out in the open—thanks to our friend Joem—it could have been ignored. But he has seen fit to share such comment about it that when we return, it will be spread like wildfire. I could order no one to speak of it, but we both know that, intended or not, the story will emerge at some point. A man too much into his cups can do a great deal of damage. And discipline, consistency and order are of utmost importance when one must lead men."

Jeren nodded her head in understanding.

Then it was settled; she would be returning to the stronghold, where she and Rhyse would meet this discipline together. It was the only fair thing to do.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Jeren sought out Elrond next, before she would retire, looking in his study and finding it dark. It was very late, after all. It had been a long day, and a tiring one. She went up the stairs and just before she got to her bedchamber, she noticed light beneath Elrond's chamber door. She hesitated at first. This was the first time she would have seen him since she left Rivendell to go to the stronghold. Things had been somewhat strained when last she spoke to him, after he'd told her of Elladan's choice. She knocked quietly. She heard his muffled, "Enter."

She stepped through the door and then closed it. Elrond looked up from a book he'd been reading as he sat on the couch in his sitting room. He looked at her with concern. _Perhaps her face reflected the disquiet she felt._

His hair was loose about his shoulders and he wore a long sleeping tunic and trousers—in a claret color—made of a filmy material the Elves favored. When she first came to Rivendell they'd made her nightdresses out of the same cloth—in various colors—but she always preferred those of plain cotton. The filmy stuff felt slick, made her feel as if she might slide out of bed.

Elrond patted the seat cushion beside him and Jeren sat.

"What is troubling you, Dear One?" he asked her.

"Nothing of much import, my lord," she answered, but words to the contrary suddenly spilled from her mouth. "I have failed—at some things—" she said with difficulty, "and I need guidance in how to overcome these failings—or accept them, I'm not exactly sure which."

"Why do you not explain yourself," he answered, "and I will see what I think about these supposed 'failings' of yours."

"For one thing, my hesitation to shoot the Orcs attacking Elrohir yesterday afternoon almost cost him his life!" she said, her tone more than a little self-loathing. "I do not know if I was not paying enough attention, or if I was worried about the rule I'd be breaking if I did shoot them."

"Rule?" Elrond asked, clearly puzzled.

"When I first went to the settlement, Aragorn had a talk with me about what was expected of me and what was forbidden. I was to follow orders and not use my weapons unless expressly ordered by a superior officer."

Elrond nodded his understanding, a frown already furrowing his brow. "So you were not ordered to use your bow when you shot the Orcs advancing on Elrohir?"

Jeren nodded. "And now I wonder was I just being witless to let him get injured, or if I was somehow protecting myself from being chastised and sent back here if I broke Lord Aragorn's directive."

"Do you perhaps think you may have been waiting to see if Elrohir might look after himself?" Elrond asked her quietly. "He's a very good swordsman—_I_ would have hesitated before defending him, when I know how very good he is at protecting himself."

Jeren pondered Elrond's words for a moment. "I had not thought about that. Perhaps that is why I delayed my shots. I know that Elves sense Orcs before Humans do—you hear them and smell them. He must've known the Orcs were there."

"I have spoken with Elrohir about how he came to be injured," Elrond said. "He admitted he knew the Orcs were there, but he paused, needing to see that you were where you were supposed to be, doing what you were supposed to be doing—or not doing, in this case—and he overestimated the time that he had to do that in."

"Well, _that_ certainly doesn't make me feel better," she exclaimed. "Why does he feel the need to coddle me, Lord Elrond? Do I look as if I cannot take care of myself?"

"I think Elrohir perhaps remembers that young girl he and his brother brought to Imladris those years ago, broken and ill. He is most likely having trouble seeing you as a grown and responsible person." He glanced at his hand, which was holding one of hers. "As I am, Dear One."

Jeren smiled at him and squeezed his hand. It truly felt wonderful to be cared for so absolutely. Her fear of awkwardness had vanished. He was still the same fatherly figure he'd been to her for years, even though he'd felt the need to tell her of his children's choice. Her heart breathed a sigh of relief—all was well between them.

"Now, what other 'failing' has you overwrought this evening?" he asked her, clearly thinking it would be no failing in his eyes at all. Only in her own eyes.

"This afternoon, after the battle was over, Elladan had captured an Orc—" Jeren began.

"Oh, do not tell me my son is again torturing Orcs!" Elrond said, almost in exasperation.

Jeren gave a short laugh, thinking that Elrond sounded as if the person he spoke of was a wee child, being caught with a hand in a cookie jar, and not an adult Elf, showing cruelty to an enemy.

"I know nothing about Elladan's past behavior," Jeren said. "I only know that today he did torment the Orc he captured. But that is not what I'm concerned about," she said hurriedly. "I am concerned that _I _could not stand it—_me_! I grew weak and threatened to lose whatever was in my stomach while I _tried not to watch_. Somewhat how I reacted the first few times I killed something—whether prey or enemy. I want to know what I can do to improve. I cannot be weak when things of this sort need doing."

Elrond brought her hand up and kissed the back of it. "Jeren, you are not weak just because you have a heart and cannot endure seeing something—enemy or not—tortured. My son—whether you believe it or not—is not perfect, as you might believe." Elrond stopped for a moment, looking into her eyes. "After the twins found their mother, it was Elladan who was most affected by it. He took every opportunity he could to make Orcs suffer, whether it be intentionally lopping off one of their arms and watching them bleed to death, or nicking them in many places with the same result. He was heartless for a while after his mother sailed. I despaired that I had lost my son as well as my wife. I counseled him long about it, seeming to make no headway. But time, as always, has a way of healing. And the influence of his brother finally had him seeing the error of his ways. Yet every now and then he gets reminded of what he has lost to Orcs, and that venal streak surfaces in him again. I am sure this last scare with Elrohir is what caused him to break down today.

"I hope your heart is _never_ hardened to the suffering of anything—enemy or otherwise. When you allow yourself to sink to those levels, you lose a bit of yourself. I wish that on no one, especially someone I hold as dear as I hold you."

"All Elladan was wanting today," Jeren said in Elladan's defense, "was to learn of this poison that they have been using. Aragorn and Glorfindel were there. They could have stopped him, yet they did not."

"Strange things happen to males of all species when they battle," Elrond said, "whether it be Man, Elf or rutting buck. It is like a fire in the veins, not easily extinguished. Not that I am making excuses for those of my gender, you see. I am only offering explanation for unexplainable behavior."

Jeren nodded her understanding. She laid her head on the Elf lord's shoulder, comforted as always by his mere presence, and very happy that all was well between them.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**


	15. The Discipline

Elrohir saddled his horse. Elrond stood by, clearly unhappy that his son was defying his wishes. The rangers had left an hour ago, going back to the stronghold where they belonged. Elladan had gone with them—but so had Jeren—and that was what had Elrohir up out of his sickbed and chafing to be away.

Elrohir was quickly mending, but it had only been a little over a day since his injury. Even an Elf needed more time than that to heal. And the poison had not left his system as quickly as it had done with the others inflicted with it. It lingered, causing Elrohir to say things unintended, as well as shift his mood suddenly. This had Elrond concerned, and he knew not how to cure it, so Elrohir leaving was not in his son's best interest. Of course, since the poison's strength had been greater in Elrohir's case, it was still possible that merely enough time had not elapsed. Staying here at home, so that his father could see after him—that would be best for Elrohir, in Elrond's opinion. And Elrond had tirelessly told him just that, ever since Elrohir had made his desire to ride known.

"I told you from the outset that this plan of yours for Jeren would go astray," Elrond said, angrily, "yet neither you nor Estel listened to me. Hear me now, Elrohir—this idea of yours to ride today is a bad one. You have no call to go roaming around the countryside in your state. Your injury is still raw. You do believe me when I tell you that you still suffer ill effects from the Orcish poison, do you not?"

"Yes, Father," Elrohir said, obviously trying to placate his father. "I will have Elladan look after me as soon as I arrive at the stronghold. And I know that the poison still has its hold on me. I hear myself speak at times, unbelieving that it is I saying the things being uttered. But I cannot stay here knowing that Estel is going to discipline Jeren. I just cannot do it. I must stop him."

"Do you seriously believe Estel would do such a thing?" Elrond asked. "Jeren saved your life. Estel knows that, as we all do."

"I do not know what Estel might do!" Elrohir's tone was suddenly explosive and he turned on his father with even more anger in his voice. "All I know is that Jeren is about to be punished for saving my life and I am responsible!" His expression abruptly changed to one of frustration, and he leaned his face against his horse's neck, seeming exhausted beyond thought.

Elrohir turned to Elrond and embraced him. Stepping back he said, "Forgive me, Father. I have no call to be shouting at you. But I must do this. I will return as soon as I've spoken my piece to Estel."

Elrond knew defeat when he faced it. "Very well, son. But do return quickly. My concern for you has not abated. I will not rest until I know you are right again."

Elrohir nodded and mounted his horse. He rode away from his father without looking back.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"Estel, do not do this," Elrohir said. He had arrived at the stronghold just as the discipline was about to commence.

Aragorn glanced at Halbarad and then back at his brother. "It must be done and by me. Jeren knew the directive, yet she went against it. She had good reason, but the fact remains that she used her weapon when forbidden to do so. You were there when I not only gave her the first command, but when I reiterated that same command. She swore both times she would abide by the rule. She was apprised of the consequences if she did not."

He paced a short distance away, but turned to face Elrohir again. "Had she not announced to the crowd at the archery trial the conditions of the edict I gave her, we would not be in this fix quite so deeply. The men would not know—it would just be a matter of her learning from this. Unfortunately, The Mouth of the Dunedain was on this mission, and Joem's already approached me about it. I censured him and told him to mind his business and I'd mind mine. But now my leadership will be in question. And by now all the men know of her breach of my directive. Some do not care, but there are many who want her gone—and they do care. I must play by the rules as strictly as I might this time."

Elrohir, Aragorn and Halbarad were in the dining hall awaiting the offenders. Since Rhyse was to order Jeren to arms and did not, he was considered as guilty as she. They would both meet with discipline today.

"Do not hurt her, Estel," Elrohir said directly. His stare would have cowed a lesser man, but Aragorn knew what had to be done. He turned and left the hall, instructing Halbarad to send Rhyse into the next room as soon as he arrived.

It wasn't long before Jeren came in, accompanied by Rhyse. Rhyse straddled a bench at one of the tables and sat. His concerned expression seemed not for himself, although he faced the same punishment that Jeren did.

Jeren approached Elrohir and he looked shaken. Jeren had never seen him like this before.

"All will be well, Elrohir," she said, as if soothing a child. "I've had worse than this from my own father. Worry not." Indeed she did not appear or sound that troubled.

Halbarad opened the door to the storage room, where Aragorn had just gone, and motioned to Rhyse that his time was at hand.

"Come, your judgment awaits you," Halbarad said, clearly unhappy with his son for needing to be here at all.

The discipline would be given in a storage room off the dining hall, which housed mops, brooms and buckets, as well as linen and pots and pans on shelves lining the walls. There was a small table set near the center, on which sat a riding crop and a lit lantern. There was a window high up in the peak of the roof—much like the one in Jeren's loft room—but it afforded little light.

Rhyse was gone for almost fifteen minutes. Jeren wondered if his punishment had been greater than hers might be, since he was considered her superior officer. She hoped not. While she would not have acted in a different way had she known just exactly what his punishment would be, she still did not like being responsible for another's pain.

As she stood there, Jeren could plainly hear the strikes Rhyse was being dealt. All three of them. She looked at Elrohir and found him staring at her. She swallowed hard, but said nothing.

Rhyse emerged from the room looking no different than when he went in. Jeren decided that he had much stamina and nerve. She'd been given strikes with the whip before and they always got her attention. She knew Rhyse's back must still be stinging as if it were on fire and only after awhile would it subside to a dull ache.

On his way out of the hall, Rhyse squeezed her arm and gave her a small smile of encouragement. Halbarad motioned for Jeren to come forth. She smiled again at Elrohir, and as she left, insisted, "Worry not!"

As she followed Halbarad to meet her discipline, Jeren listened as Elrohir left the hall. She knew his Elven senses would allow him to hear much more than he apparently wanted to.

Discipline among the rangers was for the most part rare, and Aragorn wasn't usually called upon to mete it out. Halbarad got that burden. But since this bargain had been between Jeren and Aragorn, he thought it only fair that he be her judge.

Usually discipline was dealt out in public, to influence others to not do the same crime as what the accused had done. But since Jeren was a woman, Aragorn made this substitute, and instead of the usual whip used, he had a riding crop in his hand. He had no intention of having her bare her back, as was usually done, but even with her fully garbed, he'd not put her on stage for a show to the others.

Jeren entered the room and closed the door. She began undoing the ties to her tunic.

"That's not necessary," Aragorn said quietly, staying her hands. "You will not meet with discipline from me today." He walked a few steps from her and turned; the room was very small.

"I cannot see Rhyse disciplined and not get like treatment," Jeren said, as she again reached for the fastenings of her tunic.

"I am telling you to hold, Jeren," Aragorn said impatiently. "This is why you are here at the stronghold at all—to teach you a lesson. You do not listen!" As he'd made that last remark, he'd stretched his arms out to the sides in exasperation. In so doing, he dislodged a mop that had been leaning against the wall. He reached to right it, but in the process of fumbling with it, sent its long, wooden handle into the side of Jeren's face with much force.

The impact was such a surprise—and the hit so hard—that she actually fell back on her rump. She held her jaw with one hand, her eyes closed, until the worst of the pain had subsided.

Aragorn was at her side instantly, helping her up. He was aghast—a large red welt was already forming on Jeren's skin. He helped her to her feet.

"Jeren, I am sorry," he said, in such a sheepish way that she chuckled quietly.

"I've often thought to perhaps be felled by an Orc," Jeren said, still smiling, "but I never expected to be felled by a kitchen tool!"

Aragorn led her the few short steps back to the table that held the lamp. He took her face in one of his large hands, turning it so that the light fell on it better and he could see the damage he'd done. Across her jaw line and down the side of her neck trailed a large, red mark. Even as he watched, a bruise was forming.

"Elrohir is going to kill me," he said, mostly to himself. Then he looked into her eyes. "Yet you are to tell no one you did not receive discipline from me today. No one. It must remain secret—between you, me and Rhyse. And before you protest again, Rhyse only received a lashing from my tongue. If he is to make a good ranger, he must follow orders implicitly. There will be times that his life depends on it.

Aragorn fetched a stack of dishtowels from a shelf on the wall and placed it on the table beside the lamp. He picked up the riding crop and dealt a fierce blow to the towels.

"I had no intention of using the whip on you today—none at all. But it must seem as if I did so."

He hit the stack of towels again, making it sound to any who might be out in the hall listening for such a thing, as if he were dealing the blow to Jeren. _This is what she had heard when Rhyse was in here._

"The Mouth has seen fit to spread it around that you broke my directive and that you would receive discipline as a result. So if I do not follow through, my integrity and authority will come into question. That must not happen, even over such a trivial matter as this."

He dealt the towels one final blow and set the riding crop aside.

"I will explain all to Elrohir later; in his current state of mind I cannot trust him to not blurt it out for all to hear. So once you are out of this room, you must never speak of the true nature of this discipline again. Am I understood?"

Jeren nodded and said, "I understand."

"I merely meant to talk to you," he said, frowning. He again took her face in one of his hands and the fingers of his other hand trailed over the purpling welt. "I suppose this will show just what a beast I can be."

Jeren chuckled again. "Worry not about it, Lord Aragorn. It truly no longer hurts. Would that this have been the only discipline I'd ever received for disobeying orders."

"You have seen the whip before?" Aragorn asked quietly, more as fact than question.

"Many times, my lord," she replied. "But he only meant it to teach me. He did not mean it to break me."

Jeren felt proud of herself—she'd spoken of her father without tears even threatening.

"My discipline will not seem so harsh, then," Aragorn said, "yet you might not like it as well. Words have a way of staying with someone, where a beating can be shoved into the back of one's mind. If you take nothing from this room today, take this: you must listen to those more experienced than you are. Just as I told Rhyse and now you—you might not understand every order you are ever given, but you _must_ obey. Your very life could depend on it.

"Your rescue of Elrohir—alone—showed me just how green you truly are, and how inflated an ego you must have, to have even attempted such a irresponsible feat. You were ordered not to go, yet you went on your own, disregarding the wisdom of those with far more experience than you have. That is why there are superiors. They have the good judgment of age that younglings lack. You are very smart, and likewise very stubborn, but you do not know all—far from it.

"I cannot offer you a position with the rangers here, but I can offer you a vote on the matter. The rangers are majority ruled. The men must decide. That is how it has always been and how it will remain. I can call a meeting and hold the vote as to whether you are to be allowed in or not. Your actions in the battle—in which you saved Elrohir—will gain you much esteem. You might get the majority you need, especially with Rhyse on your side spreading the tales of your marksmanship.

"And lastly, I could never discipline you for saving Elrohir's life. No matter who knew or said anything about you breaking any directive of mine. He and his brother are dear to me, and you did me great service when you felled those attacking him."

He clapped her on the shoulder, and to her credit, she did not sway or falter, for it was a stout tap that he gave her. She stood straight and tall. _Proud_.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

As Jeren emerged from the storage room, Elrohir came back into the hall. Aragorn followed several steps behind her. Jeren smiled at Elrohir as she approached him; yet he became enraged the nearer she came. He saw what she'd already forgotten about: a red welt and a bruise starting to form, across her jawbone and down her throat on the right side.

She knew instantly there was going to be trouble. She'd never seen Elrohir really angry before and if this was how it looked, she never wanted to see him thusly again. She wondered how much of his anger was from the poison's effects and how much was simply because he loved her so deeply. She put herself between him and Aragorn, and he took her by the arms and pushed her gently aside.

"I will show you how discipline is dealt, since you obviously do not know!" Elrohir said fiercely to Aragorn.

Halbarad had been leaning against a table, waiting for Aragorn to finish, but he suddenly stood, ready to break up what looked to be a challenge from Elrohir against Aragorn.

Jeren hated the thought of lying to Elrohir, but she'd been told to tell no one the circumstances of her discipline, and for whatever reason, she did not think to tell him the truth. He seemed so predatory—his behavior frightened her.

"T'was my fault, Elrohir!" Jeren said intensely, thinking quickly. "I flinched and he missed his mark." She winced, realizing as the phrase left her mouth that she might have just made the situation worse with her careless words. She had her palms against Elrohir's chest, but was having no luck in dissuading him from reaching his target. She was not getting through to him. Halbarad closed the distance between himself and the two would-be combatants.

"Elrohir," she said firmly, "If you have words about this with Lord Aragorn, I promise you I will never speak to you again!"

His eyes sought hers at her last remark. He knew Jeren and therefore knew she was not merely talking. His eyes were tortured; hers were relieved at finally seeing his focused on her.

"Did you hear me, Elrohir?" she asked. "T'was _my_ fault."

"I heard, but you have no fault in this catastrophe! This entire thing is _my_ fault. _Mine_. You would not be here but for me. The directive would not have been made had I not suggested it. You would not have been struck—" Elrohir touched her face gently with the backs of his fingers, "if you had not saved my life."

"And I would endure a thousand strokes a thousand times over, if it meant you lived. My ambitions pale when balanced against your life. There is no comparing the two. I will gladly go home, if it means that you live. You are much more important to me, Elrohir, than any hope I might have to join with the rangers."

He grabbed her to him and held her tight. Jeren thought her heart would break; she'd never seen him so grieved about anything before. And over something so trivial. _Trivial to her anyway_.

"I've decided not to send you back to Rivendell," Aragorn said when all was calm again. "That is why I dealt this punishment first, so that it would mollify the ones who would expect it, and then I could reverse the other portion of our bargain. And it will not be amiss, considering the circumstances of your breaking of the edict. I will call for a vote, to see if you can be recruited."

Jeren considered what Aragorn had said. She should want to stay. She knew she'd made tremendous strides in winning the men with her actions in the battle. She'd ignored a direct order—and from the Chieftain—knowing she would be in a world of trouble, yet another's life had been spared because of her actions. And not just 'another', but Elrohir, one of the sons of Elrond. She might now have the majority behind her, but somehow, it did not matter any more.

Elrohir's reaction to her punishment made her see him in a new light. She'd always considered him as a brother she never really had, but it was now obvious to her that his feelings were more parental toward her.

Understanding dawned—she now realized her own father's mind-set. She had put her father through torment, every time she insisted on going into dangerous situations, and every time she would meet trouble, he would take it very personally. And she now knew that Elrohir felt the same way. She could not ask him to bear this, not when it wasn't strictly necessary. If she'd had any doubt earlier, Elrohir's response to her discipline had laid it to rest—whether the poison was influencing him or not.

"Thank you, Lord Aragorn," she said, "but I decline. I will stay a little longer; I wish to see Elen and her family—get to know them better. But I will be leaving soon. Thank you for the opportunity you've given me." She turned and left the hall.

Elrohir was astounded by Jeren's short speech. But he had heard the tremulous tone of her voice and seen the tears in her eyes as she'd made it. He did not know what her game was this time, but he would find out. He always did.

The contemptuous glare Elrohir fixed on Aragorn hurt the younger man, but Aragorn could do nothing at the present to ease his brother's mind.

Elrohir stormed away. The door he slammed echoed throughout the hall.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Elladan looked up when Elrohir swung the door to the room that they shared, crashing it closed. Elladan sat at the desk, reading an old book he'd brought with him from home. He said nothing, he just resumed his reading. Elrohir, on the other hand, paced the distance—which was short—across the room. And then paced it again.

Aragorn also had a private room here in the main hall, as was fitting the Chieftain. But the twins shared this one, because there were not two free rooms for them each to have their own. Neither of them was in residence at the settlement enough to warrant a cabin, and bunks in the barracks did not appeal to them. This arrangement suited them just fine.

"How can you be so calm," Elrohir snarled at his brother, "when Estel has just beaten Jeren?"

Elladan looked at Elrohir uncertainly. "I doubt it was as bad as that. Really Elrohir; Estel 'beat' her?"

"If the bruise on her face is any indication, then yes, he's beaten her."

Elrohir had Elladan's attention now. "What are you speaking of, Elrohir?"

"I just left her in the hall," he said, "or rather, she just left me. And her face is bruised. She claimed she flinched and Estel missed his mark. Well just let me loose on him and I will _not_ miss _my_ mark."

"She was bruised?" Elladan repeated, frowning.

Elrohir leaned over the desk, right into Elladan's face. "Listen to me, Brother," Elrohir said directly to Elladan, as if his twin might be hard of hearing and may need to read his lips. "She was bruised. What about that remark do you find unable to comprehend?"

Elladan got up from his chair, standing away from Elrohir slightly. Gazing directly into his brother's eyes, he said, "I comprehend, I just find it hard to believe."

"What?" Elrohir asked, "You accuse me of telling you falsely?"

"Of course not, Elrohir," Elladan said, "I just think you misunderstood, is all."

Elrohir threw a suspicious look at his twin. "You know something about this discipline that I do not. What is it, Elladan?"

The twins were still unable to mind speak to each other. But Elladan distinctly felt the tiniest of intrusions into his mind. The link—while still not strong—was there, so Elladan quickly put up his guard.

"I cannot say, Elrohir," Elladan told him quietly.

"You cannot or will not, Elladan?" he asked him in return.

"Both," he replied. "You know you are still afflicted by the Orcish poison, Brother; what confidences that might be told to you usually, cannot be shared with you right now. But trust me when I tell you, Jeren was in no danger from Estel."

"Then explain that bruise on her face to me!"

"I cannot—," Elladan started, but there was a rap on the door interrupting him.

Elrohir pulled the door open and there was Aragorn, appearing as if he thought he might need to draw a weapon before he entered. Elrohir left the door hanging ajar and turned his back on Estel, going deeper into the room. Aragorn entered and quietly closed the door behind him.

"Elrohir," Aragorn started, "I—"

"How could you do that, Estel?" Elrohir demanded without turning toward Aragorn.

Angry now, Aragorn said quietly, but firmly, "Think you so little of me, Elrohir?" He walked to his Elven brother, going around him so that he could face him as he spoke. "You above all must remember the lessons taught by those who command over those they command. It has been many years ago, but I still remember it vividly. I distinctly remember a lesson I needed to learn and I learned it well, Elrohir—at your hands."

"So, this is some sort of retribution you visited on Jeren because of something I did to you years ago?"

"No," Aragorn said, his anger growing. "I am Chieftain here. I have men to lead, which I do and do well. You brought the trouble you were having with Jeren and laid it upon my doorstep. I embraced it. She is my kin, however distant, and I owe her father what I can do, to see she lives and prospers. She knew the directive. She accepted the debt. She swore and then, by her actions, she forswore. There was no other choice, Elrohir. You know this."

"I told you not to hurt her and she comes back to me bruised—on the face, no less!"

Aragorn hesitated, his anger ebbing slightly. "That was an unfortunate accident—with a mop handle," he said, a corner of his mouth curving up a little.

Elladan couldn't help himself, he laughed at the awkward expression on Aragorn's face, as well as his strange choice of words.

After an initial glare at Elladan, Elrohir asked, obviously confused, "So you beat her with a mop handle?"

"No," Aragorn insisted, "I did not." He was beginning to smile now despite the grave conversation they had been having—and Elladan's laughter was not helping him any. "I bumped a mop and as I tried to right it, I accidentally shoved its handle into her face. No one is more appalled by the result than I. But she actually laughed, after she got over the initial pain."

Elrohir considered Aragorn's words for a moment, still confused. He felt that Estel would not lie to him, but this story was very suspect. "Yet you carried out your discipline on her, did you not?"

Aragorn exhaled audibly. As much as he wanted to—needed to, really—he could lie to Elrohir no longer. He would tell him the truth, and then try to make him remain in this room for the rest of his stay at the stronghold, or until the poison no longer affected him.

"No, Elrohir," Aragorn said, glancing at Elladan. "I did not discipline either of them. I merely spoke to them both—gave them each a piece of my mind. I could not carry out the formal discipline knowing Jeren had saved your life with her actions."

The relief was obvious as it washed over Elrohir. His shoulders slumped as he heaved a huge sigh, closing his eyes. But they immediately opened again.

"She lied to me!" he said with a frown.

"You are looking for trouble today, Elrohir," Aragorn said, scowling again. "Your mood is foul. Perhaps you should rest, maybe improve your humor, so that those of us who are forced with your company just might be able to stand you."

Elrohir smiled then. "I could say that you came to me—it is _you_ forcing _your_ company on me, Estel. But perhaps you are right."

"Jeren only lied to you because you reacted so strongly when you'd seen she'd been hurt," Aragorn commented, "and because I told her the true nature of her punishment had to remain unspoken. Which is something I am telling _you_ now. This is to stay untold—to anyone. If you cannot do that, please do not venture from this room."

"That will be hard," Elrohir said, "since I must now go find Jeren and speak to her."

Aragorn closed his eyes momentarily, then opened them again, staring at his brother with obvious irritation. "_Why_, Elrohir? Just leave her be for a while."

"No, Estel," Elrohir said, "I must find out her reasons for declining your offer of calling an election, to see if she can be recruited. That has been her dream for years and she refused your offer. There must be a cause for her to suddenly give it all up."

Aragorn looked at Elladan again. He knew the reason, if Elladan did not. But should he tell Elrohir? It would hurt Elrohir to know he was the source of Jeren's sudden reversal. He decided the matter would be better settled between the two of them.

"I will go find her and send her to you," Aragorn told him.

"I would appreciate that," Elrohir said. He cautiously sat on his bed, holding a hand to his injured side. "In the meantime, I will get some rest. Perhaps improve my foul mood."

Aragorn smiled and, turning, left the room.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

As soon as she left the hall, Jeren headed to the stable to saddle Two. She rode north up the river quite a ways and stopped—not at the usual spot where she and Rhyse had gone a few times—but further. She wanted to be alone in her misery and wanted no one to find her.

She found a peaceful place, where the Bruinen curved and trees, probably ancient in age, thrust their huge, green boughs out over the water. She allowed Two to graze while she sat on the bank with her feet on the ground and her knees drawn up, her elbows resting on them.

Jeren gazed out across the water without really seeing it. In her mind's eye, she saw Elrohir's face when he thought he was the cause of the bruise on her. Because he knew that she had broken the rule to save his life, the discipline had hurt Elrohir far more than it would have hurt Jeren, had it been dealt. Elrohir's expression had been one of such agony, as if he had taken the whip that was meant for her, feeling every last second of the lashing pain. And the pain that Jeren had seen in his eyes cut at her heart.

So what if she also felt some self-pity about giving up her dream of joining the Dunedain rangers? She had worked hard—no, she had labored intensely—to acquire the skills needed to even contemplate joining the rangers. And all that toil had been for naught, apparently. Since she would not even ask for a vote from the rangers, would Glorfindel allow her to join with the Imladris force? Would Lord Elrond allow it? Did she even want that? All questions she could not answer at present.

She lay back in the grass, unfastening the first two ties on her tunic. It was hot out and she needed some air. She opened it to her waist, flapping the lapels to cool herself off. _She just might shuck all her clothes and jump in the river._

She relaxed where she lay, deciding she could do nothing this minute about all these questions and problems she had. She was almost asleep, when Two nickered quietly. The mare's head came up from the grass on which she'd been grazing and, with ears pricked, she looked back southward. Jeren lifted her head enough to look, too. A rider approached. _Oh joy…_

She lay her head back down, closing her eyes again. Whoever it was would—hopefully—take the hint if she did not greet them. She heard the thud of the horse's hooves in the grass as the rider approached, then as the sound slowed, the horse obviously walking. Finally she heard whomever it was dismount and walk unhurriedly toward her. She had a moment's self-doubt, wondering if it could, mayhap, be Joem. But he'd not tried any mischief when he had her alone in the barn in Rivendell, so she doubted he would try anything now, if it were indeed he. And she had her long knife—she was not defenseless. She kept her eyes closed.

She heard her visitor sit down beside her and finally lay down, too. Her eyes shot open as she looked to see who it could be—being too familiar, in her opinion.

Rhyse. Lying on his side gazing at her. _She should have known_.

He looked at her uneasily. He lifted his hand, his fingers moving to trace the bruise on her jaw.

"Aragorn did not do this, did he?" Rhyse asked, anger just below the surface in his tone.

"Yes he did do it," Jeren said, "yet it isn't as it appears. As far as anyone else is to know, however, he did it as he was dealing the discipline to me."

"How?" Rhyse asked, clearly confused.

"I wish to not think about it right now, Rhyse," Jeren said. "Just know it was accidental. Mayhap I will tell you some other time, though there really is naught to tell. Right now, I wish to think about nothing."

"Perhaps I could help you with that." He looked at her for a long moment, his sensual intentions written plainly on his face. He bent to kiss her.

It was a tender kiss, not like the one two nights ago in the woods. His hand trailed along her face and down her neck, finally resting on her ribs. But his hand seemed to have a mind of its own, because it began traveling back up her ribcage, even though his lips never ceased their attention on her mouth. His fingers brushed the tie at the top of her small shirt, really just half a shift that she wore beneath her tunic. Rhyse lifted his face to watch as his fingers pulled the ribbon holding it closed.

Beneath the tie was a scar—the one she took when her old horse Jones had accidentally kicked her on the fateful day the Orcs encountered her at her house in the woods. Rhyse traced the scar with two fingers, then let his lips travel there as well.

He kissed her neck, brushing the bruise with his lips as he finally made it back to her mouth. _He had been right_, Jeren thought, _this was a good diversion if one wished to think of nothing._ Rhyse slipped his hand inside her shift.

Jeren wanted to scream when she again heard hoof beats. Rhyse pulled slightly away from her, rising up further on his elbow to see who it was that was causing him pain. He closed his eyes in a grimace as he realized it was their Chieftain riding toward them.

"Make yourself presentable, Jeren," Rhyse told her. "'Tis Aragorn."

"He will see me as I am, or not at all," Jeren said, obviously angry. Rhyse did not share her anger; he wanted to avoid more trouble at all costs.

"Will you do it for me, then?" he asked her. "I will bear the brunt of this, you know."

Jeren rolled her eyes and began fastening her shift together. Aragorn was upon them and had dismounted from his horse. He took in the scene, although by now, Rhyse was on his feet. Yet the Chieftain was not born yesterday—he knew what they had been about.

"Rhyse," Aragorn said, "your father needs you."

"But sir," Rhyse started, "I am off duty—"

"Go back to the settlement, Rhyse. Whether you are on duty or not, I want to speak to Jeren alone."

"Yes sir," he said. Rhyse looked at Jeren, his expression saying without words that he was sorry to leave her this way. She smiled at him, telling him in return she held no ill will.

As soon as Rhyse had ridden away, Aragorn said, "At least close your tunic while I am speaking to you. And rising would not be amiss, either."

Jeren did both, but it was apparent that she was not happy in the doing of it.

"Lord Aragorn," she said as she rose, "I am of age—I do not need a nursemaid to guard me from a man."

"I know you are of age, as you keep reminding me," he answered disdainfully. "And while a nursemaid might be _exactly_ what you need, I think you may more need that whipping I did not give you before." He walked a short distance away, trying to control his anger. He turned back to her and said, "And it is not _you_ that I worry needs guarding. What were you thinking, to allow that to happen? Or perhaps you weren't thinking at all. You are not in Rivendell, where you may caper with Elves if you wish. Rhyse is a young man."

"I do not _'caper'_ with Elves or anyone else, and I am well aware of Rhyse's state of being a man, Lord Aragorn," she answered coldly. "'Twas why I was kissing him."

"I can see I must spell it out to you, then," he said. "He is a young man, if not in love with you, he very much thinks he might be. Were he to have—continued with you—in the vein in which he was traveling today, he would have expected your hand in marriage. Are you prepared for that, Jeren? You might just be larking with him, passing the time. That is not how he sees it, I would venture to say."

Jeren was stunned. She had not stopped to think about these things at all. She did not love Rhyse. To lead him on might have occurred to her in the past, but it had been long since she'd given that any thought. Yet she was not ready to tell the Chieftain any of this—_not at all_.

"How do you know I do not have like feelings for him?" she asked Aragorn. "Mayhap I am prepared to go to him in marriage."

"Well you are taking the wrong path to get to your goal then," he answered her. "You would have his parents to contend with, should you become with child. Halbarad already gives you a wide berth and has counseled his son to do likewise. A grandchild out of wedlock would turn him more against you, I would think."

Jeren frowned. "How can he dislike me? He does not know me. How can he make such a judgment as this?"

"Use the sense the Valar gave you, Jeren!" Aragorn said unkindly. "All Halbarad knows is that he was embarrassed today—his son was disciplined for dereliction of duty. And he knows the reason why."

"I saved Elrohir from Orcs, is why!" Jeren said vehemently. "And his son _did_ shirk his duty! Mayhap he could think of that, and not that I am a rule-breaker, shattering directives because it pleases me!"

Aragorn ran a hand through his hair, looking very much defeated. He had never been a counselor to a young woman, and if this is what it entailed, he wanted no further part of it. He continued, in a much softer tone. "We could go round in these circles for much time, it would seem. This is not why I came seeking you. Elrohir wishes to see you, in the twins' room in the hall. I told him the truth about the discipline today and I do not want him out among the men, spilling the details to them. So I came for you myself. You could be having this same conversation with him."

"You know I would _not _be," Jeren answered in her most sarcastic tone, though her temper was cooling. "Elrohir would not care would he have found me with Rhyse." She had finished retying her tunic and now headed toward Two, gathering the reins in her hand.

"Defiant to the last," Aragorn said. "What makes you so angry?"

Jeren led Two back to Aragorn, her expression now brooding, if not a small bit contrite.

She looked at him with regret in her eyes. "Would that my mother were still alive to guide me now." Her tone was full of melancholy and her voice trembled with unshed tears.

"Thank you, Lord Aragorn, for your counsel. You are right; I do not love Rhyse. I would not wish to be expected to marry him. I suppose there is much I should discuss with him, should our relationship continue. I apologize for my defiance. 'Tis been a horrid day."

Before he could see the tears that had filled her eyes spill down her cheeks, Jeren mounted her mare and rode back to the settlement.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

**A/N: For any readers who might have _A Simple Change of Heart_ on your alerts - I have been editing that story and in the process, I have managed to not only alert everyone there was a new chapter 17 - repeatedly, I'm afraid - but also to mess the titles of the chapters up to where they no longer have the correct titles to go with the correct chapters. The chapters are in order, the titles are wrong. I can't seem to figure out how to change that, so I might just have to delete the story entirely and upload it again. I've made no major changes - I certainly haven't added whole chapters - I've only tried to make it a little more reader friendly. **

**We have one more chapter to this story - _Follow Your Heart. _  
**


	16. Chapter 16

Jeren knocked softly on the twins' door in the main hall. Elladan opened it, with a finger to his lips. Elrohir was asleep on his bed.

"See how he sleeps?" Elladan asked quietly. While he did not seem greatly concerned, Jeren could hear the slight unease in his voice. Elrohir lay there with his eyes closed.

"Is he well?" Jeren asked, whispering.

"He seems to be mending as he should," Elladan answered quietly, "though the Orcish poison is still affecting his mind somewhat."

"And he greatly resents," Elrohir said gruffly, "when people assume he is sleeping, just because his eyes are shut. I can hear you speaking of me as if I am not in the room."

"It sounds as if your mood has _not_ improved with rest." Elladan used a normal voice, no longer attempting to be quiet. He picked up his book and opened the door wider so he could escape. "I think I will leave Jeren to cope with you now."

"That is probably wise, Elladan," Elrohir told him.

Elrohir focused his attention on Jeren.

"Come here, Young Lady." Elrohir propped himself up on pillows and made room for Jeren beside him on the bed, even though the movement cost him. He grimaced as he held his side.

Jeren sat on the bed gingerly, afraid the shift of the mattress might cause him more pain. But he did not react so she sat back against the pillows as Elrohir's arm came around her shoulders. She heard his quiet exhale, as he tried to act as if all the movement had not hurt him.

"I am glad you are here," Elrohir said. "I want to apologize for the scene I caused in the dining hall. As Elladan told you that Orcish poison has still got its hold on my mind."

"Would you have reacted much differently, had you not still been affected by it?"

"Probably not," he admitted. "When I saw the bruise on your face—I told Estel not to hurt you!"

Jeren could tell he was on the verge of another outburst, so she stayed quiet for a few moments.

"As you already know, he did not hurt me," Jeren stated.

"That is not how your face appears—" Elrohir said.

"—Appearances are not always what they seem, Elrohir," Jeren said, interrupting him. I told you then it was an accident."

"Yet you did lie to me," he said, now in more control of his emotions.

"I am sorry for that," Jeren told him. "And I promise to never do that again, no matter who orders me to."

Elrohir hugged her slightly. "You must do as ordered, Jeren. Always. That's what this misbegotten venture was supposed to be about. It turned out just as my father told me it would—badly."

"So the entire thing _was_ set up by you. Why, Elrohir? Because I did not follow a few orders—orders that were not the best way to handle the situations I found myself in?"

"As _you_ say," Elrohir said accusingly. Jeren thought he sounded much like Elrond could, when he was in a mood such as this. "Your leaving to rescue me alone was not just foolish, Jeren, it was dangerous. You know it as well as I do. You were told not to go, not only by your father, but by Elladan as well, yet you did it anyway. And I think you did it—not for spite—but to prove that you are an able warrior. All that it proved is that you are a reckless one."

"I did it because it was _you_ Elrohir!" Jeren exclaimed. "I couldn't abide you being taken by them—I had such fear for you! And I knew not what they might do to you. Time was against you, and I could not wait for the others to be hale enough to seek you themselves!"

Elrohir tilted his head and looked at her from the corners of his eyes. So Jeren qualified her statements. "That was _most_ of the reason, Elrohir—I cannot make you believe me."

He continued to look at her as if he knew she was not being honest with herself. "All right," she admitted. "Perhaps a small part of me wanted to show everyone I was a capable warrior. And I am. I accomplished what I set out to do, and no one was killed or hurt—" Jeren finished defensively.

"—By the grace of the Valar were you not killed. Only by that. When you set out, there were twelve Orcs from which you were trying to free me. A_ dozen_ Orcs—that's how many you expected to face—_alone_. The Valar's grace was upon you that day, since the twelve were only five by the time you found me.

"But all was well," Jeren tried to reason, "there _were_ only five, whether by the Valar's grace or not."

"Do not profane that which I hold sacred," he said. His stern expression showed her just how wrong he thought her words. Long had she used the Valars' name loosely. She wisely kept quiet.

Elrohir's face relaxed slightly and he said, "Everything could have turned out much differently than it did. The Orcs could have remained together and you could have been captured. I might have had to watch as they did to you what they did before. Then they would have undoubtedly killed you. They might have even _eaten you_. And I could have witnessed it all. I would not wish that on my worst enemy, Jeren, and the odds that that could have happened to you that day—_with me witnessing it all—_were very high.

"I have lost comrades to them in that way before, though I only saw the aftermath, and they were not loved the way I love you." Elrohir's voice trembled slightly, as if tears were but breaths away. "Had I had to watch as they killed you—I may not have survived it."

Jeren looked into Elrohir's face—that familiar, handsome face that was so dear to her. "I am sorry, Elrohir," Jeren said honestly. "I had not stopped to look at it in that way."

"That is what I mean, Jeren. You must accept the wisdom of those who are in a position to think of these things. That is all that I ask. Perhaps one day, _you_ might be in a leadership position. But by then you will have the experience you need to be a good leader. You will know the odds and when to take them, and not take foolhardy chances needlessly."

Jeren bit her lips to stop them from trembling. She was so near to tears, thinking about not only what Elrohir had just told her, but also of all she was giving up—her dream to be a ranger with the Dunedain—now that it might be attainable. She could never be any sort of leader, the way things stood now.

"I thought I was gentle with you, but you are about to weep, Jeren," Elrohir said. "Does the Orcish poison cloud my mind so thickly that I no longer know when I'm being foul and when I am not?"

Jeren took a breath and smiled, perhaps somewhat falsely, and willed the tears away. "Of course you were gentle with me, Elrohir. Have no fear of that poison's hold on you."

"Yet something is amiss," he told her. He paused. "I asked Estel to go find you because I wondered why you rejected his offer to hold a vote for you. Why was that, Jeren?"

Jeren tried to think quickly of something she could say without revealing the truth, but could think of nothing. She finally blurted, "I tire of fighting Orcs." She'd had to struggle to keep her voice from quavering.

"You just swore to me that you would never lie to me again, and here you are doing it for a second time in one day!" he said, not able to hide the annoyance in his voice. He gave her a little shake with the arm that was around her shoulders. In a much kinder tone he said, "Quit fighting against saying whatever it is—and you may as well let those tears fall as they will. Tell me what has made you change your mind so abruptly."

She closed her eyes and the tears did spill. She lifted her hands to her face, trying not to sob. After only a minute, she had her control back. _That ever amazed Elrohir—that she could be weeping one minute and all but serene the next._

"I know not how to tell you, Elrohir," she said, sniffing and wiping her eyes with her fingers.

"There is no 'how', Jeren. Just say the words that are troubling you."

She decided to do as he told her. She knew he would never leave her be until she did.

"I cannot fight with the Dunedain rangers and endanger your life any longer."

"What are you talking about, Jeren?" he asked, clearly puzzled.

He obviously did not remember any of the rambling he had done the other night, after he had been wounded. Would she have to tell him of it? _Every single dreadful word of it?_

"After you'd been wounded with the poisoned blade, you spoke freely, whatever came to your mind. You told whoever would listen that you feared your ability to fight was leaving you. But after you considered that for a few minutes, you decided that it was more likely that you were worried about me during the battles, and that is how you came to be wounded—fretting over me and not concentrating on your enemies as you were fighting them."

"_I_ said that? Out loud?" he asked her in a disbelieving tone. If Elrohir had ever blushed, Jeren had never seen it, yet she thought that now his face was a little more colorful than usual. "That sounds like nothing I might say."

"You may think I've gotten into the easy habit of lying to you, but such is not the case. You did say these things. You can ask anyone who was with us and they will tell you the same thing." Jeren turned to look him in the eyes. "And I cannot put you in peril, if your attention is being ruined by my presence. 'Tis not fair. You have been fighting with the Dunedain for centuries and I am not even a ranger."

"If it is the case—that I am distracted worrying over you—then that is _my_ concern, Jeren, not yours. It is something I must learn to live with and correct on my own, not something you should have to try and manage."

"But it is not fair!" Jeren said again, more passionately.

"I've never known life to be fair, Jeren," Elrohir answered. "You more than anyone knows that life does not always turn out as we might wish it." He touched her face softly. "After what you endured at the hands of the Orcs, you did not fade into the background, hiding and being afraid of shadows. You could have done that—so easily. But you did not. You fought. And you learned to fight _them_. You face your fears every time you go on the battlefield. And now, you say I cannot face mine? Think you so little of me?" Elrohir shamelessly used the words that Aragorn had said to him just a short time ago.

Jeren felt as if the weight of the world was lifting from her shoulders. She smiled at Elrohir and threw her arms around his neck.

"I love you, Elrohir," she said. "I could not love you more if you were of my own blood. If I had a brother, I would want him to be just like you."

"I love you, too, Young Lady," Elrohir told her. He disentangled himself from her, but he kept hold of her hands. "Years ago, I encountered a very ill child, broken and disheartened. But your strong will and determination have helped you grow to be a vibrant and thriving woman. It has almost been like watching you be born again. Were I to ever have a daughter, I would hope she would be quite a bit like _you_."

Jeren felt the tears well in her eyes again, but Elrohir would have no more of that. He all but shoved her off his bed. "Now, you go find Estel and get him to call that vote for you."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Jeren went to find Aragorn, unsure of where he would be. She had checked the hall as she left the twins' room and he was not in the alcove. She truly had no idea where to begin in her search.

So she started in the stable; he had been riding when last she saw him. It seemed the logical place to commence the hunt. His horse was there, but Aragorn was not. The stableman was forking hay into a stall, so Jeren stopped to ask him if he'd perhaps seen the Chieftain—mayhap knew where he had headed?

But the stableman knew nothing, only that the Chieftain had ridden in about fifteen minutes ago and had left his horse with him. He did not know where Aragorn had been going after that.

Jeren was completely perplexed. _Where would I be if I were the Chieftain? Other than at my desk? Or in the stable?_

Her stomach growled loudly and Jeren suddenly realized that she was famished! It was well after noon, and she'd had nothing to eat since before they left Rivendell this morning. So she headed to Elen's, to perhaps beg a small meal from her. She knocked at the door of the last cabin on the left.

Jeren heard quick, small feet scampering to the door, with Elen's scolding, "Do not run in the house, Jamesica!" filtering through the window. Her cousin opened the door, her gap-toothed grin lighting up her face as she saw that it was Jeren coming to call.

"I see you have lost something, Jamesie," Jeren said.

Jamesie smiled wider, "Yes! Afternoon before last, I was tussling with Jack and he knocked my tooth out! I did not even have to yank at it once! I thanked him, although Mama did not!"

Jeren laughed as she stepped over the threshold of Elen's cabin. She spied Elen in a chair by the hearth, her mending on her lap.

And Elen saw her. And the bruise on her face. "Jamesica, go out and play, please," Elen said distractedly as she rose.

"But mama," Jamesie all but whined, "I want to stay and see Jeren."

"Another time, daughter. Now do as I say."

Jamesie, dejected, scuffed her feet as she headed outside.

Elen said, before Jeren had any chance to explain—although Jeren would have no truthful explanation—, "I see it is true."

"I broke the Chieftain's directive. I was guilty and I took the punishment I knew would result. 'Tis nothing, Elen."

"Doesn't look like 'nothing' to me," she said angrily.

Jeren kept forgetting she had the blasted bruise on her face. It fairly shouted 'the guilty' as she met anyone. And it also announced Aragorn's guilt, plainly for everyone to see.

"I'd heard when I was out and about, that the Chieftain had gotten liberal with his punishment of you," Elen said. "But I'd not believed it. I never would have thought it of him. For shame!"

"_I'm_ the guilty one, Auntie," Jeren said quietly. "And I got someone else in trouble, too. I was not the only one disciplined today, you know."

"That's not how I heard it," Elen said, "and from the other horse's mouth, too. I ran into Rhyse before. He also claims 'twas _his_ fault. I wonder; does Aragorn take any fault at all?"

"I suppose he does not," Jeren replied. "He broke no rules."

"He's broken _my_ rule," Elen said with a crook to one eyebrow.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Elenmere entered the hall and accosted Halbarad right inside the door. He knew by the sight of her that she had some bee in her bonnet.

Her face was usually rosy, but today her cheeks were almost ruddy. Her brows were set in a scowlish 'V' and her lips were merely a line slashed across the bottom of her face. The air around her fairly crackled, as the atmosphere before a lightning flash.

She did not even wish him a 'good day' as was her normal habit. "Halbarad, where is the Chieftain? I need a word with him."

Aragorn sat as his desk, busily comparing one map to another, when Elen strode up. And she strode up with a flourish. Before she'd even stopped in front of his desk, she was asking him, "What do you mean, striking a young woman?" Her face was stormy and her voice harsher than he'd ever heard it before. He got up from his chair.

"Are we speaking of Jeren?" he asked her.

"Of course we're speaking of Jeren!" she shouted. "I left her not five minutes ago, and she's bruised—_in the face _of all places!" She bustled about, dusting his desk with her kerchief, lifting his maps to dust under them. "I never! I care not what she says about deserving it! No lady deserves a beating from a man!"

Elen stood upright and faced him once more. "If I ever again hear tell of you raising your hand in anything more than a greeting to a woman—_especially to a niece of mine_—you—you will have me to answer to! Are—we—clear?"

Elen's voice had ended on a shrill note, and it took all of Aragorn's will not to wince as it pierced his ears. He raised his eyebrows and answered, his voice wary, "Crystal clear, my lady."

"Good!"

Elenmere cleared her throat, then added in a much quieter and calmer tone, "I've baked some blueberry scones. Your favorite, I believe? Stop by later and we'll visit some more."

With that, Elen turned and made her way out of the hall.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Jeren resumed her search for Aragorn as soon as she'd left Elen's house. Elen had fixed her a small meal of bread and cheese—enough to tide Jeren over until the evening meal was served—and had left Jeren alone in the cabin to eat it. She said she had an important errand to run.

So Jeren had eaten hurriedly; she still had to find Aragorn, after all. As soon as she was finished, she tidied up the few dishes Elen had dirtied in order to feed her. And then Jeren had gone back to the hall.

She passed Elen on her way inside, who stopped Jeren long enough to drop a kiss on her cheek, but then hurried on.

Jeren saw Aragorn was at his desk in the alcove. She hesitated. Only a little over an hour ago, he had caught her with Rhyse—and had been none too happy about it. And her behavior toward him had been appalling. He had no reason to even speak to her now, much less do her any favors.

But she would not let that get in the way of her goal. She had dreamed of being a ranger for years. Now that she'd spoken with Elrohir, she could not let this argument with Aragorn stand in her way.

She gathered her courage and walked slowly toward him. He glanced up when he heard her footsteps, but then he continued what he'd been doing, as if dismissing her.

"Lord Aragorn, sir," Jeren said. "Might I speak to you?"

He looked at her long before answering her. She could see he was at war with himself.

"If you speak to the point," he finally told her. His stare made her look at her feet for a minute. But she again gathered her nerve and looked him squarely in the eyes. _She'd faced Orcs and been victorious. What could speaking to one man hurt?_

"I have reconsidered. If you would, could you hold the vote to see if I might have the majority to be recruited?"

Aragorn stood and again his stare preceded his words. "I too have reconsidered," he said, his gaze boring into her own. "I think it would not be wise to mix a woman with so many men, given what I witnessed on the riverbank this afternoon."

Jeren could feel her anger try to claw its way to the surface, but she consciously beat it back down. "I do not dally with every man who presents himself to me, my lord. I might not love Rhyse, but I like and respect him much. I do discriminate, although you might not believe that."

"Even were it only Rhyse, what keeps him from distraction when he needs be tending to his duty?" he asked her.

"You've seen us together, when attention is called for, my lord," Jeren said. She worked hard to keep her voice even and calm. Histrionics at this point would accomplish nothing. "You have no worry about distraction between the two of us. And I hope you have been around me enough to know by now that it is always duty with me, first and foremost."

Aragorn considered her statements. "As I told you earlier, 'tis not you I am worried about. Rhyse _is_ distracted by you, whether you are by him or not. Yet it is not guaranteed that you will be voted in, should I call an election. I see no harm in at least doing that—_if _you swear I have naught to worry about when it does come to duty. I believe you have learned something about swearing and forswearing, am I not correct?"

At Jeren's quiet, "yes sir," Aragorn said, "Should you be recruited, if there is a next time you are caught by me breaking _any_ rules—explicit or implied—you will receive the discipline you deserve with no quarter. Am I understood?"

Jeren could not help the tiny thrill she felt at his words. _She was getting her chance_.

"I swear, should I win the vote, it will be naught but attention from me when duty is called for; and broken rules will be punished. You are completely understood, my lord."

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"Aye."

"Nay."

"Nay."

"Nay."

Such was how the voting went, when it did finally get going. Aragorn had called the vote for this evening. Jeren knew not how such things were accomplished. She supposed he told several men and had them announce the meeting to the others.

Each man was seated at every one of the long benches at the tables in the dining hall. Now as they went down the line, Jeren could know what every man thought of her, if they wished to comment. Aragorn had given each voter a minute to express his opinion about his choice. Halbarad held a watch, keeping the men honest to the exact minute they had. Some men chose to exercise that right and some did not.

One 'aye' said, "Any friend of Imladris is a friend of mine," while a 'nay' said, "No woman belongs in our ranks." In fact there were many such comments as both of those on either side.

As it stood right now, with forty-three votes having been tallied, there were twenty-three 'nays' and twenty 'ayes'. Four more yet to count. _Very close, Jeren thought_.

Neither Rhyse nor his father had voted as yet. She could count on one more 'aye', but certainly not Halbarad's positive vote. And Joem's vote still had not been counted. Jeren felt all but certain her bid was lost.

Another man stood. "Aye."

It was Rhyse's turn to be heard. "I say 'aye'; only fools would let a marksman such as Jeren be left out of our ranks."

Halbarad stood forward and, looking directly at his son, said, "_This_ _fool_ votes 'nay'. There's disruption enough in battle, without bringing one with us."

It was now down to Joem. Jeren knew she was lost. He hated her and Jeren may never know why.

Joem stood. "I have been told I have a big mouth," he said, and many of the men chuckled. As soon as all was quiet again, he continued, "But I have yet to be told I am stupid, at least to my face. She saved my sorry ass in the last mission. Stupid is what I would be, did I not vote 'aye'. She will be an asset to our numbers." Then turning to Jeren specifically, he said, "Welcome to the rangers, _darling_." As he sat down, the hall erupted with much cheering and grumbling alike.

Jeren stood there in stunned disbelief. She had won. She was now a recruit in the Dunedain rangers.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Moaning and groaning woke Jeren the following morning—though she thought the noises were coming from someone else. Her head throbbed and she was so thirsty her mouth seemed glued shut. She opened one eye just a crack, but closed it again. The sun was already up. It had been long since she'd greeted the day—_after_ dawn had broken.

She tried to turn onto her back but could not. An immovable object—like so much dead weight—was smack up against her. As she awakened more fully she realized that the dead thing wasn't dead—it was another person—one that was alive.

She searched her aching mind to gather some inkling of the night before. She remembered going into the barracks with Rhyse to celebrate her recruitment. She remembered guzzling ale. After that—blank.

She could stay in the small bed no longer—her head pounded like there were drums beating a cadence inside her skull, and she had to get water. She lifted the covers to rise, but the arm resting around her middle tightened. Her _bare_ middle—_she was naked as the day she was born._

"Please lay here with me," Rhyse said sleepily. And he started kissing her neck.

She shoved his arm aside and sat on the edge of the bed, cradling her head as if it were made of eggshell and the slightest of movements could crack it wide.

"What I would give were the horse trough not outside, but right in this room," she mumbled. "I'd soak my head this very minute." She had her hands over her face, but parted two fingers, looking around on the floor. She finally found what she sought—her small clothes were there by her feet, beside the bed. She grabbed them up and hurriedly put them on without completely rising. After a bit more one-eyed searching, she found her tunic—also on the floor—right beside the door, so she stumbled to her feet and captured that, donning it as well. But her leggings were nowhere to be found—even with two eyes looking for them.

Rhyse smiled wickedly and dropped his hand to the other side of the bed, where he picked up her leggings and held them aloft. Jeren grabbed at them and put them on quickly. She stomped into her boots—quietly.

As Jeren reached for the door, Rhyse sat up and said, "Hurry back."

"No," Jeren said. "You get dressed and come down with me. I have no intention of coming back up here."

Rhyse frowned. "Please come back. I've something I want to ask you and it is a private matter—for your ears only. Return after you've given your head a good soaking. You'll feel better, I promise."

Jeren was gone for so long that Rhyse had despaired that she would return. She finally entered the room, closing the door quietly behind her. She leaned against the wall, opposite the bed, and slowly—slowly—slid down it until she was sitting on the floor.

She had obviously crawled completely into the trough; she was wet from head to toe. She'd probably not bothered going to the pump to get water; she'd more than likely just drank what the horses had left.

"You could come back to bed," Rhyse said seductively. "Of course, you'd have to take off all those wet clothes."

"No, I could not," she replied. After a moment's silence she said, "I do not recall exactly what went on here last night, Rhyse, but whatever it was, it should not have occurred."

"Worry not, Jeren," he told her. "Nothing happened that either of us might regret."

She looked at him as if she thought him daft. "You expect me to believe that—when I woke up with us naked—in bed—together?"

"Ah, but only one of us was completely naked," he replied. Rhyse lifted the covers and while his chest was bare, the rest of him was covered with his leggings. "You divested me of my tunic and shirt down in the stable." He frowned. "Come to think of it, I hope they're still there."

"I hope so, too!" Jeren said, and she bolted out the door to find them. She came back moments later with both in hand, thankful that the stableman had not found them first. She tossed them on the bed within his reach.

"Get dressed, Rhyse," Jeren said. "Then we must talk."

"Can we not talk as I put these on?" he asked her.

"I suppose so." Jeren took the place she had vacated—against the wall opposite the bed, on the floor.

"So we ended up in my bed—with me naked and you half so—but we did nothing?"

Rhyse tossed back the covers and picked up his shirt, shrugging into it. He looked a little discomfited before he said, "I did not say we did nothing, only that we would not rue what we did do. I shamelessly could not keep my hands off you. I am sorry for that, but the temptation was just too great, and you were much too willing—_Valar were you willing_." He'd put so much emphasis on that last phrase, he almost sounded near tears.

"Sometimes when I am with you, I think my hands are creatures in their own right, but last night they were the only parts of me that touched you." Rhyse ran one of those errant hands through his tousled hair, as if remembering the restraint he had kept on himself last night. He obviously still found it overwhelming—even this morning.

"If I was so willing, why did you not fulfill my desires?" she asked him.

"When we are together—I want all of your senses aware," he told her. "I want you to remember it when it happens with us."

"You are so sure it will happen, are you?" Jeren asked.

"I love you, Jeren," he said quietly. His expression was such that Jeren did not doubt him. "Of course it will happen."

"Rhyse—" Jeren started.

"—I know you are about to tell me you have no time for romantic pursuits," Rhyse said. "You are a recruit now. You will be a ranger after you pass your tests. When we are neither on duty, we have all that time to ourselves." He paused for a minute. "I was going to ask you, but I think I'll just tell you—I want to marry you, Jeren."

Jeren could not believe she felt like weeping. _Perhaps it was this blasted headache! Or maybe it just made her unbelievably sad that she was going to hurt Rhyse in this way._

She knew precisely how her words would cut at his heart, if he did indeed love her like he had said. Yes, she remembered exactly how it had felt, when Elladan told her that the love she had in her heart was lost on him.

"I cannot marry you, Rhyse," she said. "There are things to know about me that if you knew, you would withdraw your offer."

"I cannot fathom what those things might be," he said. "I do not think you could tell me anything that would change the way that I feel."

"For one thing, your father does not approve of me."

"Do not let what he said in the hall last night when he voted make you believe that."

"But I do know it as fact—from a reliable source who will remain unnamed."

"Well that _fact_ is beside the point," Rhyse said. "He disapproves of _me_ more than half the time. And more to the point, you would not be marrying him; you would be marrying me."

"I've just now been recruited. Who knows which missions I will be chosen for and you might not. We could be months parted. Even if I were to consent to such a thing, that is no way to start a marriage."

"Make no problems where none exist, Jeren," he said. "We will cross those bridges as they come."

"I could never give you a son—" she blurted, but stopped, wanting to see his reaction.

He frowned momentarily. "Why do you say such a thing, Jeren?"

"The Orc attack left me all but barren. Lord Elrond has told me that having children will be all but impossible for me. I might conceive—"

"—It matters not," he interrupted her, with a small shake of his head. "I am the son of a ranger and I would not wish that on any son of mine. His father would never be home. He would learn what he needed to know from others' fathers who took pity on him."

He suddenly looked as if he might have imparted too many details. But then he continued, "Children are not something I would miss did I not have them. But I certainly would miss you, were you not beside me."

"I do not love you, Rhyse," Jeren said, so quietly he almost did not hear it. "I love another, though he does not return my love."

"Then there is hope for us, Jeren," he said. "I have love enough for both of us, until your heart is free of 'this other', and then you can love me, as I know you will."

"That is the mistake that I made, Rhyse," she told him. "I thought if I just loved him enough, he would love me as well. But you cannot make someone's heart do your will. It must do its owner's will."

"Your heart will come around. You could say I feel it in my bones." He got up from the bed and walked to squat beside her.

"Rhyse—" Jeren began again, her eyes filling with tears.

He placed a finger on her lips, stilling them.

"I am not so blinded by you that I do not see obstacles. Aragorn and my father will no doubt go to great lengths to keep us apart. They might succeed for a time, but not for always. I'm truly in no hurry to wed—I merely wanted you to be aware of how I felt."

He went down on one knee and kissed her lightly on the lips.

"We will speak of this later—much later. Perhaps next year, if it takes that long. I will wait however long it takes. I know what I want Jeren, and that's you."

He stood then and walked to the door. Opening it, he looked back at her again, but he said nothing more.

He walked away, but when he did, he left the door ajar.

The End

**A/N: I want to thank Elfinabottle, Song in the Woods, Teacalm, and Frieda for their kind and helpful reviews. I wouldn't have made it through this without them.**

**I would like to mention that I also write under the name Puxinette here in the LotR section. Or let me rephrase that—I _have_ written under that name. I wrote Full Circle at the same time that I wrote A Simple Change of Heart. Those were the first things I had ever written, and believe me, it's easy to tell! Why I wrote under two different names, even I am not sure about. I guess I thought that the stories were entirely different, but as I go back and reread them, I realize they are pretty similar. Elrond and the twins figure prominently in both stories. I think it was the idea of rape in A Simple Change of Heart that I thought might put people off from reading anything else from Puxinette, so I chose another name.**

**I am in the process of editing both of those stories. I know they could use complete rewrites, but I don't have that kind of time. So I am just editing the worst things I come across, even though I know they each need much more work.**

**As I go through the chapters I am editing, I am dividing them where they need breaks with the "o-o-o-o" symbols. If there are none in a chapter—not even at the end—I haven't looked at it yet. So be prepared for the worst. That's IF you decide to give Full Circle a read. I only mention it at all because I am in the process of thinking up a story line for a sequel to it. Haven't gotten that completely thought out yet, but I'd truly like to try it.**

**Thanks again for reading Follow Your Heart.**

**Evereven.**


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